


Meant to Be

by theglamourfades



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: Anna knew who she was meant to be when she married John. Years later, with their child arrived safely, the story of what was always meant goes on.





	1. January 1926

**Author's Note:**

> My take on what happened for the Bateses after New Year 1926 - a Downton S7 of sorts, but over a greater time span.
> 
> (at its heart, an excuse for tons of Bates family fluff)

With his bowler hat fixed on and winter overcoat buttoned up, John Bates was ready to face the elements and step outside of the cottage for what felt like the first time in an eternity. In truth, it had only been two weeks. In that time he had gone to fetch things from the village on a number of occasions, insisting that he could manage against the conditions in acquiring all that was needed.

He looked at the world in a far more positive light than he used to –  _how could he fail not to, when his world was so much beyond all that he had imagined in his wildest dreams_  – but this morning he could not rid himself of a deflating feeling. On his right side his cane was held in his grip, steadying him on the way – thankfully, the heaviest of the snowfall had come and gone in his time away from the Abbey, and this morning there was only a light frost to contend with.

Yet he was only half complete upon that same side, and his lingering glance into the empty space beside him confirmed it.

He wouldn't have had it different, not now. Even if she still insisted that she would at least like to  _try_  going back to work, it was too soon as yet. He only would have spent the entirety of his day fretting and fussing after her, and going back and forth to the nursery in the time he wasn't checking on Anna. His Lordship had been gracious enough in allowing him a considerable leave from his duties and so there really was no option for him. She had told him the night before, and again this morning that it would do him good to get back and see everyone. She was relying on him to give her all the news from the house and beyond it, including how Lady Edith's honeymoon had gone. He had stood rather dumbstruck as she adjusted his collar, bundling the scarf about his neck, whilst at the same time she rocked their son with one arm. The little darling was as safe and happy as he could be in his mother's grasp, gurgling and babbling away.

" _He'll miss you today," she had said with a beaming smile, looking down with heart-shaped eyes at their child, before she raised herself on her toes to place a kiss upon his cheek. "And so will I."_

He noticed that she was tired, though she never ceased smiling. A different type of tired – one that they were both adjusting to, but were very much relishing.

The walk was so much longer when he didn't have her to talk to, and the sights not as half as interesting. His knee was grateful when he reached the servant's entrance, and he took off his hat before walking through the door. The smells of the kitchen hit him immediately, and he offered Daisy a smile as she went rushing past. It was still rather unusual to see her with her new modern hairstyle, a swell of pride surging in him to know that it was Anna's handiwork.

"Mr Bates!" she exclaimed. "It's lovely to have you back."

"Thank you, Daisy. I won't keep you."

"I just need to see to these, else Mrs Patmore will have my guts for garters. But I shan't be long." A bigger smile graced her face. "We all want to know everything about the baby."

"And I'll be delighted to tell you," he replied, feeling his cheeks start to ache nearly as much as his heart had been in his absence from his wife and child.

It had been something of a comfort to find Daisy bustling about as the first thing he saw on entering. Some things would never change. Although he suspected he wouldn't have noticed if the servants' hall had transformed into a golden palace, so wrapped up was he in his own thoughts, his tread lighter than air.

Mrs Hughes was sitting, caught in a quieter moment, though she soon got to her feet when she saw him.

"Goodness, has it been two weeks already?"

"It has," he answered the housekeeper, taking her hand as she offered it towards him. "Though my mind thinks barely five minutes have passed."

"Well, having a bairn in the house will change how you look at things."

He noticed how the stalwart of the house brightened and expanded from her petite stature, taking on the same air of excitement as she had done the closer Anna had approached her due date.

"Now, I suppose I should wait for the others, but I'm bursting to know," she grinned, clutching onto his arm as she saw him into a seat at the table. "How is he, and how is Anna?"

With those few words, he knew his stoic persona had melted away to nothing.

"They're both wonderful," he answered, his breathing easier than it had ever been. "I suppose you never know what to expect, and I didn't especially, but he's a very pleasant baby. Happy, with a sunny disposition. Hardly ever cries. He takes after his mother, absolutely."

Mrs Hughes's hand went to her mouth, her head shaking fondly in the revelation. "I've known that girl since she was going on sixteen, a slip of a thing. A housekeeper shouldn't have favourites, but..."

John smiled conspiratorially as she lowered her voice and raised her brows in consideration.

"And now, a mother to a wee boy. Well." She trailed off, the idea seeming to be too much to comprehend. John averted his eyes whilst the housekeeper composed herself. "I hope that she's in no rush. These months are precious, and you should both enjoy them as much as you can. Lord knows the blessed Lady Mary can look after herself for more than a few minutes."

"Well, perhaps if you're able to drop by and tell her the same thing," he smiled. They both knew how determined Anna was, proving herself so unfailingly.

"I'd love to do that, if it wasn't too much trouble. Mr Barrow is finding his feet quite well, and do you know, I might even trust him to his own devices soon enough."

"That's a turn up for the books," John replied.

He had managed to reach a peaceful impasse with the newly-promoted butler, and meant for it to continue. It would be quite strange working alongside the younger man as his inferior, but he had been doing it for a few years officially and it hadn't been so bad. Anyhow, he didn't give a fig as to Barrow's sneering and seeking for ambition, not when he had everything he could ever dream of.

"How is Mr Carson?"

Mrs Hughes –  _Mrs Carson_ , as she really was – gave a small sigh. "Stubborn as ever. He insists on coming up here most days, though I persuaded him to stay at home today. But I think he's getting used to things, slowly."

"We must stick together, having such resolute spouses."

"That we should," the housekeeper laughed. "But I have no doubt that Anna is in her element."

"She's a natural," John affirmed, so fondly and full of love at the wondering - and that other people could wonder it too - that his heart almost burst. "I always knew she would be."

Ever since she had given him the wonderful confirmation of the very happy news she had been hiding he could do little other than imagine her doting on and utterly devoted to their child. However, no amount of imagination could have prepared him for the reality.

As he shared a smile with Mrs Hughes – both of them having so much admiration for the absent subject of the conversation – he heard the unmistakable voice of Mrs Patmore echoing from the servants' entrance. She appeared laden with goods in her wicker basket, Miss Baxter following behind as she met the cook at the junction of the staircase to enter the hall.

"Mr Bates!" both women chorused, bundling over toward him.

Goodness, he had not been the centre of so much attention since he had been relieved of his wrongful life sentence. This time he basked in it, chest puffed out proudly permanently as the two newcomers to the party enquired after the youngest member of the Bates family.

"You must bring him up here sometime," Miss Baxter said enthusiastically. "Mr Barrow wouldn't mind one jot. He's a soft spot for the children."

Hopefully that would be the case for his offspring, too.

"Anna wants to be back within the month, so there'll be quite a bit of chance for everyone to say hello. He'll be well used to the place in no time."

"You haven't told us how much he weighed," Mrs Patmore intoned, wielding vegetables as she removed them from the basket.

John beamed, being transported back to those first few hours of his son's life. The most precious ones he had known.

"Eight pounds, five ounces."

The cook nodded in approval. "That's a good fair size. Will set him up well. And he's no trouble when it comes to feeding?"

"Doesn't seem to be," he replied. "Anna would be the one to ask about that. I think it was stranger for her, at first, but they've both settled into their routines."

He shifted a little on his feet at the turn in topic, feeling a little embarrassed on Anna's behalf. Miss Baxter stepped forth, coming to the rescue.

"We still don't know the most important thing," she began, a tentative smile inching upon her face. "What should we call the little one when we meet him?"

It had taken a couple of days, he had recalled. At first they were both too enamoured by the fact he was with them, in both of their arms in turns, feeling his warm weight and breathing in his newborn scent. Knowing that he was real,  _theirs._

"William."

There came gasps of delight from all three women, accompanied by wide smiles.

"William John Bates, to give him his full title."

Anna had been insistent that his name be passed down, in some form. He believed it was enough for their son to bear the family name. His attempts to argue were never best put forward when it came to doing so with his wife; he wanted to make her as content as possible, so he didn't care about putting his thoughts to one side in such matters.

"What a fine name," Mrs Hughes exclaimed quietly. "It'll be lovely to have another William around."

He noticed the two elder woman exchanging a bittersweet glance in shared memory.

"William was Anna's father's name. It seemed rather obvious, when it came down to it."

In all of their joy of having him in their lives, it pained their hearts that their son would not know his grandparents. Two were gone for certain; to the whereabouts of his father he had no knowledge and likely never would again, and Anna only ever talked of her mother in the past tense, though he was sure that she still bore a little hope of a reconciliation even if the flame flickered out further each day.

"We thought of William Mason only afterwards, and it was a lovely coincidence. We both thought a lot of him."

"He'd be very proud," Mrs Patmore announced, her voice shaking somewhat. Her hand was surer as she reached to touch John's arm briefly. "You must tell Daisy of that."

He smiled at the cook, nodding his head and keeping his eyes firm with hers.

For a few moments it felt as though Anna was standing in the centre of the circle that had been formed, much like she had just a couple of days before she had given birth. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to go the whole day without popping into the next room to be with his little family, but the thoughts of them both were more than enough to keep him going.

Soon enough, the sound of the bell to the left of the board rang out around the hall and he was on his way to back to work, greeting his Lordship and telling him the same details that had been previously disclosed to his fellow servants. The Earl took it all well, glimpsing a reflection of himself from years' past in the renewed demeanour of his valet.

His goodwill extended to dressing for dinner earlier than usual, allowing John to make his getaway for the evening. He forced himself to stay downstairs for a cup of tea, though he had barely finished the last drop when he was shrugging on his coat and fixing his hat to his head once more. His cane was reliably in his right hand for the walk back home, and tucked under his left arm was a tin heavy with another of Mrs Patmore's apple crumbles, which she insisted go straight to Anna. She would be in need of the energy, and of a treat, the cook held steady, and he could not say otherwise.

His own treat came as he stepped through the door, the warmth from the fireplace travelling to meet him and the sweet sound of William gurgling music to his ears. He hurried into the sitting room as fast as his feet would allow, his heart near stopping at the sight of Anna cradling their son upon the settee, a shawl around her shoulders to keep out the little amount of chill that had come through from outside.

He leaned against its back with the intent of dropping a kiss onto her head, but she had registered his presence before he could manage to do so. Her instinct was incomparable.

"Look who it is, Will," she cooed as William reached an arm upwards out of the two blankets that covered him. "Daddy's back with us. Aren't we the lucky ones?"

Gazing from the blue eyes of his wife to those of his son, he was certain that he couldn't be luckier. As William grabbed the air with his tiny fist, John caught their child's grasp with one of his fingers, grinning at the strength of his hold and savouring the sound of Anna's laughter.

"I've missed you both," he said, the simple words full of his true sentiment.


	2. March 1926

Anna always did well with routine, and she was rather relieved with the way she had settled back into her duties. It  _was_  different, of course, and she had not been without her worries. She didn't mind so much about what people in the village might have thought of her – she had noticed the twitch of the curtain from the Tripps' cottage as she and John left each morning with the pram in tow. It was her life, and she had decided there would be enough space for both work and their cherished child. The '20s had brought a lot of change in society, especially for women, and it was also favourable that Downton Abbey was such a forward-thinking household.

William had turned out to do very well with routine, also. From the moment he was awake to when he took his last sleep each day – and indeed, for every second inbetween – she doted on him. In thought and wish, if not always in action. Most mornings he slept on the walk up to the house, swaddled in his blankets, but he would rouse once they were inside and really quite warm. She let their fellow servants fuss for a few minutes – the house had been used to children in the past few years, but it was another matter entirely to have a baby around downstairs so frequently – before she took him up to the nursery, settling him against her breast for his feed.

It was her favourite time of the day, that first nursing up at the house. The nursery so calm and peaceful, only the two of them basking in the closest comfort that could be known. She was used to the feeling now, but it still gave her the most wonderful happiness – to nourish and love her son so wholesomely, so utterly natural.

Nanny knew them like clockwork too, in only a matter of going on two months. Anna would hand him over, smoothing her hand against his fair baby hair and kissing him soundly upon his soft cheek. She wouldn't see him again until luncheon, though the afternoons were often freer for her, especially now that Lady Mary's pregnancy was progressing.

Sitting with her morning cup of tea in the servants' hall, she would watch the clock carefully, her legs restless beneath the table. She made herself wait for the bell to ring before she went up once more, though some mornings were more tempting than others.  _A minute here or there couldn't hurt, it would be fine to just have a little check to see that he was comfortable..._

But she stayed resolute, every time. Routines were in place for a reason.

She gathered up the sewing she had finished, holding her head up as she walked the familiar corridors to Lady Mary's room. She was sure that she would be able to traverse the route blindfolded, and in her sleep.

It was a blessing that the nursery was situated in the other wing, and yet she could have sworn that she was able to hear William's little snuffles and contented sounds drifting out towards her. He hadn't begun to giggle yet, though it was only a matter of time. His smiles were already so bright, the lights in all of her days.

She knocked upon the door, as was customary, and waited for admittance. Most mornings, except for Sundays, Mr Talbot was occupied at the garage. If she did happen upon him in the room, he was always dressed and ready to make his departure. It was rather different from the times when she might encounter Mr Crawley sprawled out long after breakfast was finished. She recalled being too preoccupied with her own husband's predicament at the time to show her embarrassment outwardly. After giving birth in the very same bed some years later, she didn't imagine that anything else in terms of memory or future event could come close to making her face flush with heat in the same manner.

"Good morning, m'lady," she chimed as she went over to where Lady Mary was sitting on the edge of the bed, laying down the shawl she had mended. Anna noticed that the dark eyes of her mistress were somewhat heavy, for the second morning in a row. "Did you manage to sleep any better?"

"Not much," Lady Mary grumbled, shifting herself a little before bringing a hand up to rub her right eye. Her left went to the swell of her stomach in her nightgown. "As soon as darkness descends, this one decides that it's their time for a spot of rough and tumble."

Anna smiled fondly, remembering how William had been something of a night owl, always reserving his fiercest kicks for not too long after midnight. Sometimes she still registered a fluttering in the pit of her stomach at certain moments – an aftershock of sorts, she supposed – and it was the strangest and most reassuring sensation.

Even though she had an idea that it would be refused, she offered her hand out towards her mistress in the distance between the foot of the bed and the dressing table. Lady Mary did not need it, but her steps were getting just a touch more ambling each day.

At Easter the family, aside from the Dowager, were to take a trip to discover how Edith was settling in at Brancaster. Any later, and travelling was likely to be unsuitable for Lady Mary. Mr Talbot had his pick of cars to be able to get her back to Downton lest anything should happen but understandably, Lady Mary was less than keen. It was just over two weeks away, which meant that Anna would be well occupied up until their departure. Miss Baxter had maintained that she was more than happy to see to both her Ladyship and Lady Mary on the trip, but still Anna felt rather guilty that she wasn't able to do her job to all the lengths that were required. Perhaps when William was a little older it would be easier to take him along, although she didn't want to imagine what kind of scrapes he might get into once he was on his feet and toddling about.

"I must get a trim before I go," Lady Mary noted, adjusting her head as Anna combed out her bob, which had lengthened in the past few weeks. "I feel so neglectful of everything at the moment."

"You have good reason," Anna commented, feeling another pang of nostalgia. If only she would have enjoyed being pregnant as much as she had wanted to, rather than fretting quietly up until the last month or so. "But I can book something in for you, next time I'm in Ripon."

"You're a darling," Mary smiled into the mirror. "Though I'm sure it would be awfully frightful for everyone else, having me arrive like some kind of whale washed up on shore."

"Nonsense, m'lady. You're very neat."

Compared to her own bump at just going on six months, Lady Mary did indeed cut a considerably more elegant pregnant figure.

"Master George must be excited about the idea of a new brother or sister."

Occasionally Anna would catch the boy wandering out of the nursery, holding onto Nanny's hand loosely. He wasn't as forthright in his actions as his cousin Sybbie, but he was rather proficient in speaking up for himself. Very often he would have anyone who encountered him in pleats of laughter with his observations.

"Far more enthused by the prospect than I ever was," Lady Mary remarked wryly. "Though that may change when the baby can be both seen and heard."

Mr Talbot was a rather reserved character – not unlike someone else she knew very well indeed – but ever since the New Year had dawned he had seemed to have an added spring in his step whenever Anna came across him. He was nice enough to ask after William, his interest quite genuine, and Anna supposed it had a little to do with his peripheral involvement in their son's birth, as well of course as his own impending fatherhood.

"I know it's rather early to consider it," Lady Mary's tone was clipped, somewhat hesitant, as she applied some faintly scented cream to her hands, "but I imagine you must want to add to your number? Now that we know everything can go safely."

Anna coloured slightly, flustering with her hands. It was still somewhat strange to talk quite so intimately with Lady Mary, despite all the help she had given. Perhaps it wasn't the subject of children, but rather implying the aspect of marital life that produced them that made her feel uncomfortable.

In the glass of the mirror, a knowing smirk rose upon Lady Mary's lips.

"After all, we know that Bates is more than capable."

"M'lady!" Anna choked out a laugh, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

"Forgive me for being so plain," Lady Mary glanced upwards to meet Anna's eyes in the reflection, and the comment was already brushed aside. "I trust it's what you would like though."

Despite herself, she let out a small sigh. It could have been that her mistress was testing her boundaries, wishing to be assured of her loyalty. It was adaptable enough for her to carry on working with one child, but any more would prove something of a struggle.

She remembered something John had said once, about having children all around them. The image was one which she still held dear, but she couldn't envision that it was one which would be thoroughly true. She was not getting any younger, after all. She continued to thank God every day that their little boy had been delivered safely to them, and her mother did used to say that any child was a blessing from above, not to be taken for granted.

"We'll see, m'lady." She fought in vain to stop herself from sounding too sentimental, or worse, selfish. "Mr Bates and I are so lucky to have William. We just want to make the most of enjoying him at the moment."

Something in what she had said made her pause for a moment. She could not fail to enjoy her time with her darling son, who brought her such endless joy through the simple act of his breathing and being. Her second most favourite time of day was to scoop him up from Nanny's arms into her own embrace, speaking softly to him as he wriggled about, excited to see his mama again.

"Well, I'm sure things will turn out for the best."

"I think they always do, m'lady."

The two women shared a smile before Anna started on dressing Lady Mary for the day ahead. None of the maternity dresses were particular favourites of her mistress, but she settled on a midnight blue choice that was one of the newer ones purchased with a stylish silver-grey trim. Lady Mary favoured blue shades at the moment, and Anna allowed herself a silly superstitious wondering whether it could have been a motherly instinct as to what sex the baby would be. In her own experience, she found that all of the old wives' tales she recounted from friends of her mother and other sources had been entirely wrong.

"I'll make a start on the suitcases today, m'lady."

"Don't tire yourself out, Anna." Even now that she was back to her previous condition, Lady Mary didn't see anything wrong in being overly cautious. "I'm sure one of the footmen will be itching to prove their worth."

She smiled before she left the room, shaking her head. "More now than ever, I need to keep my energy up."

The direction to the attics were right, but Anna decided to turn left instead, almost skipping along to the north wing of the house. She had spent longer than usual in dressing Lady Mary, and it wouldn't hurt to check on her way...

Before she could make it inside the nursery, she made out the figure of her husband through the crack in the open door, hearing his deep timbre speaking gently to their son.  _The crafty beggar. How often did he sneak his way up here, while she was doing her very best to be the model of discipline?_

"I'll see you later, son. Give me a kiss I can take to Mummy."

Her heart couldn't fail to soften, even if she was rather surprised.

When he emerged the grin dropped a little from his face, his cheeks flaring red from being caught in the act.

"Mr Bates," she whispered loudly and a little exaggeratedly. "Does Nanny let you do this often?"

The guilt faded from his expression the longer she looked at him, a sheepish smile blazing upon his lips.

"I came up on the off chance. Honestly. I was just on the way to fetch the cases for his Lordship, and I didn't see the harm in seeing how he was doing."

She knew when he was being careful with the truth, and at this point it was written plain upon his face. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

Then again, she thought of another thing that her mother used to say: a trickster always knew their own tricks best.

Her routines weren't quite as fixed as she'd hoped them to be, but she wouldn't let on about that.


	3. April 1926

It had been a beautiful morning, the sun shining high in a pastel-blue sky, patterned with trails of clouds that looked like wisps of fine lace. The picture had been a lovely one, at least in the few brief moments she had been able to stand still to look at it.

She had fretted about the timing for a good while, and hadn't stopped even today amidst the last bits of preparation. After all, it was customary for a child to be christened within six weeks of their birth. But John had gone back to work and she followed soon after, and she had somehow forgotten how easy it was to get caught up in marking out time depending on the lives of the Crawley family. The most important thing had been to get William settled into the normality of his parents' world, and even though he was such a good baby, they couldn't have been certain that there wouldn't be hiccups along the way.

People must have wondered  _if_  – never mind  _when_  – the poor child would be christened at all.

She had been rather amused when, after she had blathered on about the delay in proceedings and her feelings of guilt and even a slight degree of neglect, John had soothed her with one of his smiles which were much less rare nowadays, his hands gentle yet solid against her shoulders as he reminded her that they never were ones to do everything by the book. As his gaze warmed her as much as his touch did, memories flooded her mind – not all of them ones she wished to keep hold of, but thankfully over time the good had held far greater weight than the bad.

And at the end of them all they had been given their reward, whose loud and happy squeals brought her firmly back to the present.

Such occasions were also characterised by the presence of family, uniting through the joy of welcoming another member to the fold. She had hardly been as happy in her whole life as in the past few months – except for when hers and John's married life had properly begun in earnest – but the thought of having the christening had caused a melancholic kind of sadness to rise within her. It had only got more prominent when they had been able to confirm the date with the village vicar.

Mrs Patmore was the one to first mention the tradition of the shawl, letting her nostalgia flow as she held a mixing bowl as if it was her own precious bundle tight in her grasp. The one in her family had been as old as her great great grandmother, passed down to every babe for the day of their christening and some years given an especially good airing with the number of children born within the space of twelve months. As other members of staff shared fragments of their own histories, Anna remained quiet. Just happy to listen, it seemed.

It was Lady Mary who offered the use of the shawl belonging to the family, most recently used by Master George. Holding it as if it were some rare piece of treasure, its fine appearance rather deceptive – it could have been made of wool from the sheep she was used to chasing as a little one herself rather than any superior material, so soft and utterly comforting did it feel to her fingertips – she almost refused. She had asked far too much of her mistress already, and it should have been kept preserved for the new arrival that would be along before they all knew it. But as usual, Lady Mary would hear of no argument from her maid, threatening to have the item chauffeured along by special delivery to the Bateses' cottage if Anna would not take it home with her that same evening.

As she folded the shawl with care, placing it into a free drawer in their bedroom, her wistful thoughts settled firmly in one place. She had not seen her mother in some twenty-odd years. There had been a couple of clandestine visits in tea-shops shortly after she had been put into post at Downton Abbey, her mother hurrying on account of needing to be back home urgently, she always said. Of course, Anna knew it was down to that devil. How had her own mother – the flesh she was made from and whom she shared so many of her own traits with – become so blind? The letters which were fleeting at best came to a stop a year or so later. She had often thought about starting a correspondence again, especially in the hours of her most desperate need, but fear put up a barrier. How could she be certain that her mother was even still alive? The part of her that was content to cling to the past thought it better that she didn't know for sure. That she wasn't aware of her marriage, her promotion, the fact that she now had a family of her own – all the things she so dearly wanted to be able to share with her mother, to see her smiles and tears of joy at how her eldest daughter had thrived.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been that way at all, and so living with uncertainty was the greatest consolation.

She had been in closer contact with her sister since they were separated by her leaving home – Anna had wished she could pack Jenny into a bag with her, so frightened was she by the prospect of leaving her alone. It wasn't too long before she moved away too, finding work in a village shop. They had drifted since the end of the war, Jenny's grief at losing her husband consuming her. The last time she had seen her younger sister she had been pregnant with her second child, though her happiness at the prospect had been diminished by her husband's needless death. Anna remembered playing with the eldest in the front room of the tiny house, keeping him amused whilst Jenny went to distract herself for a few moments, the laughter coming from her nephew as she tickled him drowning out her sister's wails of sorrow.

She wouldn't have been entirely surprised if Jenny was no longer living either. There was something that told her that the silence had gone on too long, even if she could have done more from her own side to shorten it.

She kept the sunshine in mind as she went down the stairs, her hat in one hand and the shawl folded against the crook of her arm. The morning had gone by far too fast, but it had been nice to take advantage of it, both His Lordship and Lady Mary agreeing that the occasion called for a whole day of freedom rather than just the customary half-day. Anna was quite sure that none of the Crawley family would make an appearance at the church – she certainly wouldn't expect that to be the case – but there was to be a small gathering at the village hall afterwards. Even now she thought that using the hall was rather too presumptuous.

While she was sure she looked quite frazzled with all her to-ing and fro-ing – certainly, she would need to fix her hair before they headed to the church – John was the picture of leisure, legs stretched out in front of him where he sat on the settee. Although at the present moment he was occupied in the activity of hoisting William above his head, making their son appear like a rather big bird or alternatively a very small aeroplane.

"He'll be tired out before the service," she observed, leaning against the back of the settee once she had set the immaculate shawl down upon the table.

John angled his head somewhat awkwardly for a few seconds, not quite able to look at her but offering her a smile all the same. "That's the idea, my love. We might as well have our fun now while we can, eh Will?"

William offered an eager squeal in response, kicking one of his legs out into the air from his lofty position.

He was enjoying himself, and Anna couldn't help but grin, feeling that their son was going to be quite the little adventurer when he got older. She had more than glimpsed a new, carefree side to her husband as well, and felt rather unfair in interrupting their play.

"Here, let me have him while you go and get ready," she stretched her arms into the air, delighting in the familiar feel of William's warm and pudgy body held warm against her palms once more.

"I don't see what's wrong with this," he gestured with his open hands to his attire as he made to stand.

"John Bates!" she exclaimed. "You're in one of your house shirts, and I don't know if you've noticed, but that waistcoat has a stain on the left side. Hardly your Sunday best, fit for the church."

He ambled out from the settee, giving William a kiss on a chubby cheek whilst rubbing one palm against the small of her back.

"It's the honest picture of bringing up a baby," he said, the pride evident in his voice, "and I can't think of a better image to show to the world."

Her husband was never short of ways to melt her heart, and it was the sincerity of his tone coupled with the expression on his face as he gazed lovingly at the two of them that had her utterly hopeless for him once more. He wasn't a vain man but he was always meticulously turned-out, the model valet from the crown of his head to the shining tips of his shoes. Shirts and collars crisp, jackets brushed, not a hair out of place – which was sometimes to her disappointment, as she favoured him with looser locks. And clad in his undershirt and braces, come to think of it.

And yet with what he had just said, she could easily picture him walking off with the buttons on his jacket askew, shirt creased and rumpled from where William had clutched at it with his little fists, his hair meeting a similar fate.

His smile was wonderfully soft when his eyes met hers again, letting out a chuckle at William's wriggling in her arms, a curious hand reaching up closer towards her neatly-pinned bun.

"I'll go and spruce myself up," he leaned to kiss her cheek, gently lowering their son's hand away from being mere seconds away from tugging at his mother's hair. "Ah now, Will, be careful. Mummy has spent time making herself even prettier than usual."

"Later, sweet pea," she murmured against his baby hair, squeezing a foot into her palm and earning another delighted gurgle.

She shared a smile with John; they were trying hard themselves not to be fascinated and overjoyed with every little sound and action their darling boy made, but it was proving to be a hard task.

"He's fascinated with my hair at the moment. Even more than he is with Billy Bear; the poor thing's been quite forgotten about."

John's lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made her stomach flip over in the most pleasant of manners.

"Like father, like son," he rumbled, tapping a large finger against William's button nose, his amber-tinged irises fixed to her faintly blushing smile.

For the smallest of moments she had forgotten that they were due at the church within the hour, forgotten about everything except their son smiling and moving in her arms or that there was any need to do anything other than remain exactly where they were, just the three of them. These were her favourite kind of moments.

"It'll be a good day." His voice pulled her back to the current second, the present that came just after the present she was held within. "He'll have a lovely time."

She shook her head with a small waver. "He won't even remember it." She broke gaze with her husband to watch William, who was now taken with tracing his fingertips upon the pattern on her dress. "You won't, will you, baby? Like you won't remember your first birthday, or anything much for a little while."

He made a series of gurgles as if to question her statement, which made her smile despite herself.

"But  _we_ will," John stated, his hand touching just above her elbow. She remembered his gentle smile from years before, soothing her worries and bringing her back from the brink. "I know how important this is for you."

She gathered her thoughts while his hand settled, cupped over her shoulder. "I don't want it to be about showing off. Or even doing things properly, really."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him bobbing his head in acknowledgement.

"I want him to have everything." If she were able, she would give the world on a plate to her sweetest boy. He seemed to be perfectly content in playing with a stray bit of cotton at this very moment in time, quite in opposition.

"Good memories."

John's voice went straight to her chest, causing an ache that resonated. She found herself holding onto William tighter as he rested his head in the crook of her neck, smoothing her hand over his still fine but silky hair.

Being certain that she was grounded in the present after all, swaying their baby gently in her arms, a smile broke onto her face.

"We've made a lot of those since you've come along, haven't we?" she spoke to William, hoisting him up higher.

His joyful squeals were an affirmation that every single minute that went by wrote over something from the past, made them victorious in living the life they had always dreamt of.

Warmth teemed from John's eyes, making her feel safe and loved and sure that everything in the world belonged to her.

"And I think we can stand to make many more yet," he concluded, saying what she felt before she could utter it herself.

The afternoon was more than good. After all the fun he had during the morning, William slept through the service and the all-important moment, but he perked up in time for the little party afterward. The hall was not half-full, and Anna thought again that the servants' hall probably would have been better. But it was nice to be in different surroundings, to see everyone in their own clothes and to feel a little bit freer. There were smiles and laughter, a toast to their family from Mr Carson – which made John look most humbled – and as was usual, William was the centre of attention, disrobed of the precious shawl which was well out of harm's reach.

As their son was passed from one pair of arms to another, as good as gold, Anna thought of them. Jenny, her eyes bright and brilliant-blue once more and not made grey with sorrow, laughing as she cuddled her nephew. Her mother looking on, holding her arms out to William too as happier tears filled her eyes.

The image faded almost as quickly as she had imagined it, and with a wistful sigh she let it go. Perhaps not forever, but she had the family she had made with her to enjoy their day. All she would ever need.

John's arms were around her waist, the show of public affection permitted whilst everyone else was absorbed with the apple of their eyes. She leant back into his frame, smiled as he placed a kiss by her ear.

"Did you know, Mrs Bates," he whispered, with enough sweetness to make her drift, "that there's something about you right now?"

She grinned, a memory almost completely replicated from its origins forming in her mind.

"Well, there's definitely something about you, Mr Bates." The smile wouldn't leave her face as she noted how both Mr Molesley and Miss Baxter were holding William upright between them, watching their boy keenly. "And I think everyone here can see it."


	4. July 1926

John blinked with bleary eyes, a few minutes passing by in the middle ground between slumber and wakefulness before he was roused properly. The first thing he noticed was the empty space next to him in the bed, and then he was aware of the pleasant draught upon his legs, the covers having been kicked off hours previously, combating the heat of the sultry summer night.

Despite the somewhat stifling conditions he had slept well. In fact, he barely recalled the moment that his head had touched the pillow. He did remember kissing Anna upon her lips, whispering a good-night wish against the intoxicating scent of her hair. Before then he had read a bedtime story to an entranced William – or rather, he had constructed a tale in his head and spoke it aloud for his son's amusement. There were knights and their trusty horses – he thought it wise to leave out the dragons, thinking the creatures were too fearful for such a young lad – as well as lower-born men who were just as noble and heroic in their hearts as the higher classes they served. He was keen for Will to know from as early on as he could be aware that he was equally as important as Master George and the new little chap who had since taken up residence as the youngest member of the Crawley clan. Of course, to him and Anna, he was the most special child in the world, but he wanted his son to be humble and respectful whilst also having a strong sense of himself and never feeling the need to belittle his own being in the light of others.

He wasn't sure why he was worrying so much –  _habits of a lifetime were notoriously hard to break_. Their clever boy was already showing signs of taking after his mother in so many respects, and so he knew there was already a good head upon those still impossibly tiny shoulders.

Before William's birth he suspected that having a baby at home would prove to be both a stimulant and a cure to his insomnia. The latter had proved to be the case this particular night and he did feel replenished for the hours he had slept, if a touch guilty for slumbering on interrupted whilst Anna had no doubt been up at intervals, giving William his regular feeds and soothing him until he was back sound asleep, not returning to their bed for a good ten minutes after the boy had been in deep sleep for at least five minutes previous. He wanted to have a word with her, bring up the matter he had been brooding over for some months. The time never seemed right, and he didn't want to make it seem like he was being a know-all husband, wrapping her up in cotton wool for her own good. She had a strong mind and she knew her limits well, as much as she knew her strength. It was one of the things he loved most about her, that certainty, as well as something he admired endlessly.

Oh, but he was so like his father too. Her insistence upon that was something which made her radiate with pride and unabashed joy, colouring her cheeks the same shade as the beautiful peach rose petals that adorned the gardens of Downton – and had begun to bloom in their own little yard too, thanks to the cutting they were gifted – and painting her eyes the hazy blue of the finest summer's afternoon. And therefore, he couldn't dare to argue. Even if their boy inherited of all of his less than favourable traits, knowing they were outweighed by each one of her natural qualities made him utterly at peace.

The rooms were lightening as he went through them, ambling a little slower than usual. The spaces between the walls were lilac rather than a deeper shade of purple, meaning that the dawn couldn't have been that far away. He had left his pocket watch on the bedside and didn't want to go back for it now he had reached the lower level of the cottage, just to be aware of the precise minute. Besides he had been lured, first by the shadow moving steadily across the floor, larger than her true petite height as it sprawled out, and then by the soft tune that was being half-sung, mingled as it was by little huffs and other noises that were almost indescribable but perfectly sensible to a parent's ear.

"Mummy will have to learn some new songs. But for now, it's back to  _Rock-A-Bye-Baby_ , if you don't mind."

He indulged himself by listening to the opening lines of the song, wondering how it was possible that her voice should sound even sweeter in melody. A pair of small blue eyes peered at him over her shoulder as she stopped pacing for a few moments, and he could see that they were smiling, far too alert for such an hour.

"Shhhhh," he hushed to their son, his frame towering over that of his wife's as he placed two gentle palms on both of her shoulders, not being incorrect in thinking that she melded herself into his touch. "You won't see the fairies so early, Will. Not unless you're thinking of Mummy. But she's quite unique."

Anna looked up at him, her smile weary even if she was trying to disguise the fact. The way in which her eyes drooped could not be so easily hidden, a different kind of shadow becoming visible beneath them. She was still beautiful, framed by the burgeoning light of a new day, but he knew that she needed rest.

By contrast William was quite awake, little hands waving into the air, murmuring contently at the cradled position Anna had put him back into within her arms.

"You should have woken me," he said, keeping his voice soft, gentle as the slow rise of the sun. "I wouldn't have minded. I'm surprised I went so long without waking."

"That's a good thing," Anna mumbled, fighting back a yawn. "Making up for lost time."

He stretched to a half-smile, rubbing a hand idly at the back of his head whilst the other remained propping her.

"Go back. You have to be up in not very long."

"The same goes for you," she returned. William made a gurgling in his throat, one foot kicking out into the air. He didn't need to worry about the minutes and seconds as of yet. "I'll survive. I'll just make sure I have an extra cup of tea before leaving."

John shook his head out of her sight. Occasionally he wished that she was a little less stubborn-minded, knowing that it could never take away from her thoughtful nature.

"He's not usually like this, after all."

"A bit too close for you, is it, my lad?"

William babbled incoherently, his blue eyes fixing upon his father's face.

"Used to the cooler weather. You were born amongst the snow."

"Hardy, from the first."

There was something his mother used to say about winter-born children. They were toughened against life's knocks, the coldest conditions stoking a fierce survival-instinct. A lump gathered in his throat when he considered how their son had fought, no doubt from the very minute that his existence had been created.

Anna rocked their child gently in her hold, the motion coming as second-nature. After ceasing the lullabies she started humming softly again, with John accompanying to offer the lower notes here and there, though he couldn't match Anna's flawless tuning.

William remained awake, keen to catch the unfolding of the melody to its last note, though his movements had calmed.

The sound broke in John's throat, faltering as he was on the edge once more. She picked up on it, her long braid swaying lightly as she turned at the waist, her grasp staying absolutely sure.

"Don't you think that it's time..." he began, fixing upon her eyes as they blinked towards him. "It's your choice, of course, but everything has to be weighed."

His hand rose once more, covering her shoulder clothed by the cotton robe.

"You hardly have time for yourself anymore. And you're tired."

She continued to work diligently, never shirking from her duties. If anything, he believed that she may be pushing herself, adding to her duties by doing a few of the housemaids' chores. Perhaps she sought to prove that she was still capable as a worker, or otherwise was aiming to plug the gap that had been left since the family had cut down on their number of staff, which they had been doing steadily since the New Year.

A little to his surprise, she didn't argue with what he had said. It was like he had always thought; he never wanted to insist that she had to give her career up, that it was the only way of doing things in the best interests of their son as he grew. Anna was a perfect mother however she decided to be – that was something he was unequivocally certain of. Whatever she decided to do, he would support her.

But by the sound of her tired voice, it seemed like she was having second thoughts about her decision.

"I didn't want to go back on my word after I'd said it," she confided, slowing the sway of her arms until they were almost at a still. "I don't really know  _why_  I said it. Maybe because I felt like I'd intruded upon Lady Mary." She paused as she looked away from him, back down to the ever-growing bundle filling her embrace. "You were too eager to say hello, weren't you?"

John watched keenly as William directed a sleepy smile upwards.

"I've enjoyed being back," she continued, with some hesitation for the admittance, he could tell. "But it  _is_ taking it out of me, more than it did before."

His smile wasn't one of being proved right, rather of relief that she felt strong enough not to have to pretend that things weren't taking their toll.

"It's not the same as it was before."

She met the smile he bit back slightly with one of her own, nodding her head hypnotically.

"I think maybe that's what it was, too. The change of it all." She looked down again at the babe in her arms, his head nestled firmly against the inside crook of her elbow. Snug as a bug. "He's the best change I've ever had, after meeting you that is. But it was still different. And I don't think I realised how much it would be...not until the moment I first laid eyes on him, and then held him."

John watched as his wife entered a kind of trance, one which he had been prey to countless times in the last few months. She appeared more beautiful to him in that dawning hour than ever, her enamoured smile which was soon punctuated by a gentle laugh a precious sight that was matchless when compared to any other natural wonder.

He knew her, all of her habits and quirks, the corners of her mind and chambers of her heart. Inside out, as the seasons revolved. And of course now it made perfect sense. It was the way she reacted to change in life, change within herself. There was nothing wrong in seeking out the familiar, taking heart in the reliability of routine even in the better of times. The  _best_  of times, as this was and had continued to be with each day that had passed since his birth.

"Nobody can say that you haven't given more than your fair share of duty. In these six months or so alone." He kept his tone light, though by no means undermining the decades she had given over. "And things are different for Lady Mary, too. It'll be a big adventure for her, learning to do up buttons and put  _both_  arms in a jacket."

She tutted at him, masking a small, amused smile upon her face.

"Well, I think she would like to be more involved with Master Edward than she was with Master George. I wouldn't ever say it to her face, but I think she feels guilty that she didn't feel much like a mother the first time around."

Even as she had gone back to work, it was not something that Anna could be accused of, giving so much of herself over to William. It would be a bonus however, an unmistakable one, that she would be able to enjoy the time she had with him more fully, without the need of rising early and taking to bed late. Although even that was not something likely to be excluded for some years.

"It's better that I mention it to her sooner rather than later," she said, "perhaps when Nanny Fielding is around. I'm sure the poor woman didn't bank on having to look after two little ones so close by."

"But I suspect it's not Will who makes the most fuss," he couldn't help but comment, glancing down at their darling boy.

"They can  _both_  be a handful," Anna reasoned with a smile, "but Will leads by example. Given that he's been wide awake for most of tonight then he'll be easy work tomorrow. Won't you, lovely?"

She leant to kiss his forehead, his eyes having finally dropped closed.

Once he was settled, oblivious of the fact that he would be in his mother's company for longer from sooner than expected, they left him to go back to their own bed, at least until they needed to rise – which was sooner than they both hoped for.

With her snuggled against his chest, and the covers kicked off his legs completely, John closed his eyes, able to return to sleep soundly.

"Tomorrow," he heard her mumble upon him. "I'll say something."

"There's no rush," he replied quietly, pressing against her temple.

With her arms cradling tight around his middle, feeling her soft huffs of breath against his neck, he smiled.


	5. September 1926

The click of her heels across the sturdy floor still echoing in her ears, even after she had ceased her steps, Anna inhaled deeply before she reached to tap upon the door that stood in front of her. She pulled back her hand quickly, knitting it with its partner and seeking out the reliably warm band of metal, the presence of which gave her reassurance and also reminded her precisely why she was doing this.

After a few interminably long seconds – long enough that she wondered whether she should knock again – the voice from within called out.

"Come in."

She smiled briefly to herself, remembering how foreign the same voice had sounded to her all that time ago when she was a teenager, nervous and uncertain and feeling as though she could easily run a million miles just to get away.

It was right; the time had come. She had known it in her heart for a good while before she admitted it to John before the light of dawn just over a month ago as they both stood, watching over the little one who had brought their dreams into true living daylight. She had said it to herself enough as she weighed up the options, and saying how she felt aloud was the first real step in putting the process into action.

Just as she had promised, she had asked Lady Mary the next day, still rather fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep.  _Asked_ rather than  _told_ , as she remained ever-aware of the societal difference between them and that she was in service, no matter of all the instances where she had traversed the lines of duty even if it had been at her mistress's requests. She stayed practical and thoughtful, knowing that Lady Mary would need the time in advance to find a new maid. A little selfishly she hoped that it wouldn't take too long – a month seemed more than enough to scout as well as to allow the idea of her leaving to settle. She wouldn't be going straightaway anyway, planning for the handing-over of duties which would let her scale back gradually. But Lady Mary was Lady Mary, and so it seemed wise to account for her whims.

As it was, it had gone easier than she had imagined. No longer a petulant girl on the verge of womanhood – though she still possessed the same qualities as she had back then – Lady Mary was accepting of the decision, wistful but wishing her the best for all that was to come. Though there was no immediate need for it, she offered thanks and deep gratitude and there were a few tears from Anna at the end of that morning – of sorrow and nostalgia, of relief that all had gone well.

Before she stepped over the threshold into the snug of the room, the thought struck her plain.

Perhaps it wasn't Lady Mary she had needed to worry about, rather unexpectedly. Perhaps it was Mrs Hughes who would prove the bigger challenge to her leaving.

She had found herself dressing with extra care that morning, pressing her dress diligently and fixing on the shoes that she had stayed a little later the previous evening to shine up until they looked as pristine as if they were newly-bought. Mr Carson was the one for appearances, inspecting every minute detail upon each of their persons. The men had it worse, being under his jurisdiction. Mrs Hughes had her standards, of course, but her keen eye fell towards the work that was carried out. She had the eyes of a hawk as she glided amongst the girls in the library and sitting room, in and out of all the many halls. Never overbearing; instead the smallest of huffs and the barest of glances would let you know that you were coming closer to the edge.

Once she was well-pressed she went over to the crib, her cheeks cracking as William lifted his arms up towards her. His legs wriggled as his small hands tugged at the air; he was already shuffling about on his tummy and crawling whenever he was placed on the floor of the sitting room, and she imagined it wouldn't be too long before he had a good go at climbing out of the crib for himself. Right now he still needed the help, and she was graced with a gummy grin as she brought him aloft.

Holding him close she sniffed at his hair, humming to herself as his pudgy fingers clung onto her shoulder, pulling at her dress.

She had done her best and stayed on, as she had initially promised, but the pull that was being exerted was too strong for her to resist. She needed to be with her son and nothing could change her mind on the matter.

His happy smile was brighter than a new ray of sun to her eyes, his gurgles turning more audibly each day into giggles, clearer than several bells.

"Well, it's a good job I don't have to answer to Mr Carson, else he'd think twice about allowing me to go if he saw my collar all creased."

She beamed a smile at her boy's handiwork, raising his arm and blowing a raspberry onto his softer-than-silk skin. It was definitely a laugh she heard escape him, rather than any other distinguishable noise, and her heart lifted to the ceiling to know that very soon she wouldn't miss anything as he got bigger and yet cleverer.

It was the thought of bearing witness to so many wonderful moments that made her stay sure as she met Mrs Hughes's gaze in the housekeeper's room, smiling towards the elder woman as she took a seat on the other side of the little bureau. Her nerves were shot to pieces; somehow she felt more anxious than when she was a girl and had first come into contact with the rather stern-looking woman with a brace of iron keys in her grasp, unaware of the gentle heart that was underneath.

"How is the wee man this morning?" Mrs Hughes cooed, asking after William as she always did, a fond smile already gracing her face while she poured out tea straight from the pot.

"He's much cheerier today," Anna replied. "A couple of extra naps, and a few more cuddles than would be usual during the night, and he's as right as rain."

It had been a trying few days, since she had noticed whilst feeding him that he felt especially clammy. When John had changed him a little later he pointed out a faint rash brushed over William's stomach. Though John tried valiantly to stay calm for her sake, they were both frantic with worry, especially when William cried through most of the night instead of sleeping. A short wait at Doctor Clarkson's surgery put their fears at ease, all being much better if not completely resolved when the doctor confirmed that their boy had caught his first cold. Nothing to fret about, even if they had done the right thing in bringing him for a check-over.

She thought she had done terrifically well in not bursting into tears in front of Doctor Clarkson, saving it for when they got home to the cottage and the shelter of one another's embrace. After the chaos of the morning William took quickly to napping, his breathing reliable and soft.

"That's wonderful to hear." Mrs Hughes sounded almost as relieved as Anna had felt when she was reassured nothing worse was the matter. "Hopefully I might be able to have a cuddle in a couple of days, once he's all back to normal."

Anna smiled, the first genuine smile of the day since she had waved bye-bye to William and his big blue-eyed grin in the nursery.

"He would love that."

The housekeeper had been their first, and it seemed  _only_  choice to be William's godmother. They had both been present to ask the question of her, the three of them alone in an unusually-quiet servants' hall. It was rare that Mrs Hughes cried past letting a few tears glimmer at the edge of her eyes, but as she had embraced Anna after giving her affirmative answer the younger woman had distinctly felt a droplet – warmer than rain, and far more possible seeing as they were sheltered by several storeys above their heads – pass to her own cheek.

It had been more practical to offer the role of godfather to their former colleague, even now that he was in quite a different realm and had been for some time. There was the undeniable fact that Tom Branson was younger, and there was also the added security of his being a now-unmovable fixture within the Crawley family. If, God forbid, the worst should ever happen, then they would be able to rest peacefully knowing that their darling boy would always be well provided for, walking besides the flesh and blood of nobility and, not being that much younger, treated as their equal. John would never forget the part the younger man played in ensuring that Anna and William, before he was born, were safe and had a better-than fighting chance. Even as he argued modestly that he only did what anyone else would in the private knowledge of such a matter, it remained that John would forever be indebted to Tom Branson for his act on that night when he was only half-aware of something being wrong.

Her mouth had gone a little dry, despite the sips of tea she had took; her hands bunched in her lap. Mrs Hughes's head was tilted, eyes looking intently although not with interrogation. With Lady Mary already seen to, she could take her time.

_Best to be out with it._

"William is why I wanted to speak with you. Well, part of the reason...I suppose mostly, but not all..."

Goodness, she was making a right mess of it. Years of serving under the housekeeper's watchful but simultaneously fond gaze came to meet her in a rush, thousands upon thousands of memories colliding. She supposed once – in a time that was too far gone to comprehend now – she imagined that she would be stepping into Mrs Hughes's shoes at some point, the brace of keys passed over to her, a weight of responsibility in her hands.

She took a deep breath, meeting the unswerving gaze firmly.

"I'd like to hand in my notice, Mrs Hughes. If you'd accept it."

The cavalcade of nerves whirring inside of her built to a crescendo, then came to a still with the appearance of the housekeeper's smile, kindling like gentle flame within the grate.

"Well, my girl, I don't say that I won't be sorry to see you go, after all this time." The pause that she left seemed to stretch on for the years that had passed by. "But of course, you have other responsibilities now. Ones that matter much more than everything that goes on within this old house."

Mrs Hughes's face lit up further, as it had done when William was still curled up within her and she was the size of a house. Both John and Lady Mary had been fiercely protective – sometimes to the point of being overbearing – but Mrs Hughes had shown nothing but pure joy towards her expectant state, since the moment she had her suspicions confirmed. Perhaps because she had borne her share of worry and fear for her young charge in the past, and afterward had wanted nothing other than to look to the brighter side.

The wiser eyes turned hesitant, and dare she think a touch embarrassed, for a moment or two. "I thought it was that you were going to say, or otherwise it would be a bit of not too distant history repeating."

Anna's cheeks flushed. "Not yet. I'd like a little bit of peace first."

In the past couple of months, she felt more optimistic about the prospect of another child but remained foremost wanting to take the time to be with William, devoting her time and efforts to him.

"I'm not sure you'll get much peace for a good long while yet."

Both women chuckled. Those memories that had been held in her head now seemed to be in the air, settling around them in the room.

"I've not taken the decision lightly," Anna announced. "It's been my life here, for so long. And you've always been there to see it unfold." She stopped, before it overwhelmed her. "I wanted to grant you this, and to say that I'm ever so grateful for everything you've done for me."

It pained her that certain moments came to the surface more easily than others, but perhaps it was because she could never say enough for those.

"Och," the housekeeper shook her head, her roots becoming more visible in her tone, "there's no need for that. I was only ever keeping watch. Everything you did here you did by yourself."

She was too modest, so very rarely taking her time to step into the light.

"And I've no doubt whatsoever that you will continue on that way," she continued. "With Mr Bates, and the wee one. I always knew..."

Her voice broke off, and Anna had to blink back her tears. Mrs Hughes rose abruptly, instead of letting her own fall again, rounding the table to clasp her hands around Anna's arms.

"It's been a long time in coming," the older woman noted, with a little triumph. Anna returned the statement with a watery smile, having stood in the same spot many times before, and often feeling like the moment had been so far out of her reach. "I wish you the very best, my girl. And all of the happiness in the world."

They finished their tea and dried their eyes, and before too long Anna departed, closing the door behind her to give Mrs Hughes some peace before the day wore on and became increasingly hectic.

Another cup of freshly-brewed tea was waiting for her when she got to her seat at the table in the hall, as well as a smiling face. She would drink the tea, even if she no longer had a thirst for it, but the sight of her husband – cane hooked over the back of the chair he sat in – was the welcome she craved the most.

"Did it go well?" His voice was laced with concern; he had been drawn instantly to the red rims around her eyes.

She touched her hand to his, reassuring him before uttering a word.

"We couldn't escape completely unscathed," she laughed, "it has been a while." And now the clock was ticking down – she hadn't noticed it so keenly before. "I'll work out another month, and then that'll be me."

"I hope there won't be too many more tears," he uttered softly, leaning in to almost whisper to her whilst some of the others started to mill in and out.

"I can't promise there'll be none."

She smiled wider to compensate now, her eye drawn to the piece of paper he was holding between his hands upon the table.

"What's this, then? Are you trying to keep a secret from me, Mr Bates?" Her voice was lightly teasing; they were quite far past needing to be solemn about such matters.

"Ah," he replied, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as he glanced down, suddenly remembering about the scrap himself. "I might have done a bit of investigating while I was in Ripon yesterday."

He unfurled his fingers tantalisingly slowly; she could just make out the words 'FOR SALE' printed above a picture of what appeared to be a village inn.

"I didn't think it would hurt, to start looking, anyway."

After a few seconds she burst out into a fit of giggles, much to her husband's bemusement.

"Anna?" he questioned. "If it's not what you want..."

Once more, she grasped the fingers of his hand with her much smaller one, eyes gleaming.

"You silly beggar," she chimed, her heart lightened after the burden she had carried throughout the morning. "I just never thought I'd see the day when it was  _you_  who took the first step."

His face moved from being solemn to amused, with more than a hint of mischief glimmering in his gaze. Out of the sight of the housemaids who were lingering, he raised her hand to his lips, imprinting her palm with a long, slow kiss.

"I always aim to surprise, my darling."


	6. October 1926

A chorus of giggles could be heard coming from the nursery, predominately belonging to a little girl and a slightly younger little boy. Miss Sybbie and Master George were quite the pair when they were together, and indeed, it was rare that they were ever apart. Each day was a new adventure to the youngsters, some more exciting than others, and they reacted with the exuberance that they deemed only necessary.

They were a boisterous duo, especially within the comfort of their most well-known surroundings. When they were allowed to visit their fathers at work they conserved their build of energy to return to the Abbey like two miniature whirlwinds, leaving poor Nanny Fielding in a spin. Yet they had their quieter moments too, as though at such young ages they were acutely aware of the example they were required to set. Both missed the presence of their more docile cousin and companion, but in a kind of remembrance had taken on an equal share of her calm nature. On those more peaceful days it wasn't just Nanny Fielding who breathed a sigh of relief, but it was also such a charming sight to see. An honest Lord and Lady in the making, without any heavy responsibilities as yet; simply enjoying being able to play, as was only right for their ages.

And in the absence of Miss Marigold, they had acquired another playmate.

"Come over to me, William," Sybbie chimed, sounding curiously much like her mother and holding her arms out, "I have the bear."

George took a couple of small steps in front of his cousin, brandishing his prize in both fists.

"But I have the blanket," he announced, full with the truth of the matter. He cast a glance from the baby to Sybbie, squaring back his shoulders and waving the soft material slightly.

Sybbie might have been older, but the young Master was well aware of his authority.

"A bear's much better than a blanket, Georgie. You can win next time."

The boy pouted, not quite ready to concede defeat. "It's not fair that you always choose first, Sybbie. And you can't call me that. Mama doesn't like it." He puffed out his chest, rising further on the soles of his feet. "My name is Master George Crawley."

The girl giggled loudly, shaking her head of shiny chestnut-coloured hair. "But that sounds silly."

Amidst the squabbling, William had ceased his crawling across the floor to either of the two older children. They watched keenly as he gummed at his fist for a few moments, then sat himself squarely down inches away from them. He began to squeal at the coloured wooden alphabet blocks that were cast out upon the floor, prodding a few in turn and then picking up a yellow one which was emblazoned with the letter A.

"Clever boy, William!" Miss Sybbie was unable to contain her excitement, hopping on her feet as she went over to the little one. "That's what the affa'bet starts with."

Smiling widely and seconds later letting out a cheer, William passed the block from his chubby hand to Sybbie, and then swiftly turned his attention to choosing a second.

"I know; we can play school!" the little girl exclaimed, taking her cousin by the hand and pulling with the intention of getting him to sit, the same as William was. "I'll be the teacher, and you're both my pupils."

"I can be a teacher too," George countered from his place kneeling on the floor. "You're not that much older than me, Sybbie."

She was already busy arranging the items around her, not taking much notice of her cousin's pleas.

"There can't be  _two_  teachers, Georgie. It's my game, so I can choose."

Anna was amused to walk into the nursery while the two cousins were bickering, but couldn't fail to be charmed most of all. There had been many a time when she had come to feed or check on William to find one or both of them coddling her little boy, and it always warmed her heart to realise how keenly they had taken to him.

George got to his feet and ran over to her, stopping short of pulling upon her skirt.

"Mrs Bates, can you please tell my Mama that Sybbie isn't being fair to me?" he asked, very politely indeed.

She fought to hold back a grin, not wanting to make the boy further prone to sensitivity.

"That's not my place to say," she replied, bending to pick up William who was gurgling happily at the sight of her.

Anna cradled her son closely, her heart smiling to feel his weight once more and having his little arms vine about her shoulders.

"Perhaps you can say something to Mr Barrow later," she whispered to George before rising upright again, garnering a small smile from him.

Looking at the two bright faces standing at her feet, she was overcome by a peculiar mix of emotions. Most immediately, a sense of gratitude for everything she had and a certainty deep within that she had come to the right conclusion. The anticipation of the days that were to follow, spent with her boy and watching him grow to the same size – she hoped fervently that they wouldn't race by too fast – was waiting close by.

"I've come to take William home, a bit earlier than usual."

She looked from the rosy-cheeked grin of her son, one of the sights she held most dear, to the slightly fallen expressions upon Miss Sybbie and Master George.

"We've only just started playing, Mrs Bates," Sybbie stepped forward a little, one leg crossed in front of the other. "Can't he stay for a bit longer?"

Reaching to tug upon his cousin's cardigan, George gave a solemn shake of his head – almost as if he was realising something that was quite beyond his comprehension.

"Remember what Nanny Fielding said."

The little girl bowed her head, bringing her feet back side-by-side.

"I'm sorry," she uttered, in a mouse-like squeak.

She was a little darling – the daughter of her mother and father in equal measure.

"That's alright," Anna said, quick to reassure her. Bouncing William in her arms, she smiled to both children. "You can play more very soon, I promise."

She wasn't sure of how much the children knew, but if their sudden seriousness was to go by they must have known that their playmate wouldn't be back in the nursery as usual the next day.

"I know William would like that very much. He has so much fun playing with the both of you."

Miss Sybbie looked rather puzzled. "But he can't talk yet."

Anna smiled once more. "He's always very happy, though."

As she lowered her arms for William to say 'bye' to them both, the little girl came forward again, giving him a kiss upon the cheek. William squealed joyfully.

"Bye bye, William. See you soon," she said, in a softer voice.

It was Master George's turn to step up, both of his hands holding two small and delicately painted figures.

"They're for William to play with when me and Sybbie aren't there."

Anna nodded as she took the toy soldiers into the palm of one hand, placing them carefully into the pocket of her dress. "I'll keep them safe for now, until he's a little older. Thank you for being so kind."

George smiled up at Anna, a little shyly. "Edward is asleep, so I will say goodbye for him."

Anna walked the few steps to the crib, peering over to see the sleeping baby inside. It hadn't been all that long since William was just as small; a mere matter of months. She had a distant vision of the two boys being friends – perhaps not as firm as they might have been if William would have continued to occupy the nursery each day, but given their closeness in age it seemed more inevitable. At least, she hoped that would be the case.

The hush was broken by the stamp of Sybbie's footsteps, her words barely being heard as she rushed past and out of the door.

"Miss Sybbie," Anna exclaimed, picking up her pace as she followed, with Master George in tow - thankfully he was not running along the corridor. "Be careful."

"Tia'a has to say bye, too!" the girl hurried to say as she stopped still for a few seconds. "We have to go and see her!"

She waited long enough to hold onto Anna's hand as they went the rest of the way, descending the staircase in a line formation.

William had only been introduced to the dog fairly recently, given that he was not yet able to walk, never mind play and give the attention that she craved. Though lively, Tia'a was also perceptive and recognised the need to be different around a younger child, compared to the more resilient Miss Sybbie and Master George. She had been trained well – mainly down to the influence of Mr Branson, who she had almost as much affection for as her master.

She was circling his feet now as he was pouring over a newspaper in the sitting room, enjoying a peaceful moment – one which was cut short by the arrival of their merry band.

"Daddy!" Sybbie bounded towards him, causing Tia'a to start jumping and offering the odd bark at the sudden commotion.

"Hello, my darling. This is quite a surprise." As Sybbie jostled into his lap, Tia'a nudged her head against his shins. Mr Branson was quite in demand. "What do I need to apologise to Nanny Fielding for this time?"

"Mrs Bates and William are saying goodbye," the little girl explained earnestly, reaching one hand down to stroke the dog's head enthusiastically. "And I knew Tia'a would want to say bye as well."

On hearing her name Tia'a gave a yelp, before she padded over to where Anna was standing, sniffing at her ankles.

Mr Branson smiled as he stood, placing Sybbie onto the settee where she was soon joined by George and Tia'a, who was happy to go wherever she was most wished.

"The day's finally here, then," he said, his voice warm with a touch of nostalgia. "How are you feeling?"

"Excited," Anna replied, adjusting William in her hold. "A bit strange, I suppose. I'll have to keep reminding myself when I get up that I'm not meant to be here. Though, it won't be hard, after a few minutes."

He chuckled, holding his hand out to stroke William's cheek.

"It won't be the same without you. Lady Mary doesn't want to say as much, but she knows it'll be different."

Anna smiled a little wistfully. She had spent the last weeks being shadowed by her replacement, Miss Daniels, who was only a couple of years younger than her. She was a diligent and an experienced lady's maid, and Anna felt that she couldn't be leaving things in better hands.

"She's more of your ilk than Lord Grantham's, which is a blessing."

"Don't let him hear you say that," he joked.

"Maybe it's best that I'm going, then."

William batted his hand out, attempting to catch onto one of Mr Branson's fingers as he waved them back and forth.

"It's not just her that will feel it. I'll always remember how welcoming you were to me, and how good you were when I didn't know where I belonged. You're part of this house to me, and it'll be strange not to have you here."

She had the urge to thank him as  _Tom_  – his demeanour had mellowed over the years, but he had never really changed – but instead she refrained, still aware of the distinctions between them.

"You're very kind, Mr Branson."

He shook his head fiercely; perhaps she should have used his first name after all.

"I can't say it'll always be easy," he added, shaking hands by the way of one finger held in William's fist. "But I promise you'll enjoy every minute."

They exchanged a smile, while Anna felt a surge of sadness in thinking of Lady Sybil and what she would have been like now. Just as lovely, just the same as they once knew her.

The smaller image of the youngest Crawley daughter made her way over, with Tia'a following loyally behind.

"Can I have a slice of cake now, Daddy?" Sybbie's brown eyes were wide, extra hopeful.

"Erm...in a little while, love."

Anna giggled at how flustered Mr Branson had become, giving Tia'a a pat before leaving and lowering William briefly to let him do the same. The young dog ran about, barking her goodbyes in their wake and taking a little while to calm down.

As she went away from the grander rooms she cradled her son's head, holding him as her own comfort as he hugged to her frame, his soft blanket draped over her shoulder. She had handed over her three black dresses, wearing one of her own frocks now, and bid her goodbyes in turn. The day was fast drawing to a close, as was her tenure at the house.

William's legs moved against her sides as he sought to get comfortable, and she halted her steps for a few moments, smiling against his feathery hair.

"Nearly time to go," she whispered into the tiny shell of his ear. "You'll have to make sure Mummy doesn't make herself look silly."

She took a steady breath, chasing away the few tears that lingered. Her memories would be held dear, the closing chapter perhaps a little longer than she had anticipated.

John was there, waiting, when they reached the foot of the stairs. In the flurry of farewells she felt as though she had not seen him since they arrived that morning, and the sight of his secret smile soothed her aching limbs.

"It's been a long day," he started, moving forwards so that he could kiss her cheek lightly.

She murmured her agreement. "I'm looking forward to home." Her arms shifted, though didn't fault an inch. "I know this one is."

He chuckled, his large hand covering their boy's head.

"I didn't breathe a word," he spoke low into her ear, supporting her with the span of his palm as they moved in tandem, a carefully arranged silence standing in substitute for the absence of a closed door.

" _Surprise_!"

Their fellow servants sung in chorus, faces both smiling and quietly sorrowful. She was a little startled, though not as much as William who let out a disgruntled wail at being disturbed from his nearing sleep. Sympathetic coos rose up for the babe, Anna smiling as she welcomed each figure who came to offer their good wishes, of which there were many. All the while John remained close at her back, taking their son into his arms to allow her to enjoy the modest party, arranged especially for her.

It was suddenly a feat to take in the crowd of familiar faces, ones whom she had seen every day for some years and others more recently known. Miss Baxter was full of warmth and excitement as she offered an embrace, Mr Molesley standing next to her – his appearance was heartening, seeing as he was no longer a permanent fixture at the house. Andy had poured out a small glass from the bottle of Veuve Clicquot - of which another had been loaned for the celebration -, jesting that they ought to start up on  _For She's A Jolly Good Fellow_  whilst the piano remained untouched.

"It's going to be ever so strange not seeing you," Daisy commented, rummaging in the front-pocket of her apron and producing a silver teaspoon – the very one which oft rested by the side of her cup each morning. "Take this with you. Something to remember us by."

"Heavens – she'll be half an hour away, not on the other side of the world, you daft thing!" Mrs Patmore bellowed, turning her charge rather sheepish.

A tall figure moved tentatively forward from the background, his head bowed ever-so-slightly and tight lips unpursing.

"Before you go, there's something I should say." He looked uncomfortable, the effort to even consider the words huge. Yet she could see sincerity in his eyes, long before he moved to speak. "I'm sorry, for making things difficult for you when I ought to have kept quiet."

Though he remained silent, she could hear the heaviness of John's sigh inside him, not finding it so easy to forgive.

"It's alright, Thomas," she said with a soft edge of regret that things couldn't have always been as peaceable between them. "It's been a new start for both of us, this year."

Accepting absolution, the butler went back into the throng, hardly noticeable as he pinned himself to the wall – though a rare smile came up on his face, listening to old stories that were shared amongst them all.

Though the hour was drawing late, laughter flowed along with the champagne. Anna's hearty giggles could be easily drawn out, the sound of John's fond amusement just as noticeable. Evenings such as this were the exception and they took the time to enjoy the seconds as they passed, their pride and joy equally as alert since a little while had passed, letting out happy laughs.

"Excuse me," Mrs Hughes's distinctive tones rung out along the clink of cutlery against her glass. "My husband has a few things he would like to say, in honour of our dear departing Anna."

Anna was silenced and humbled as Mr Carson appeared, casting a somewhat uncustomary sentimental gaze toward her. His speech would seem indistinguishable to her until a few days afterwards when its true depth of meaning sunk in, as she was standing at the kitchen sink of all places. She would hold back the tears as she took the weight from her feet, letting herself curl against John's solid and supporting frame, their son sleeping soundly against him too as the fire roared in their cosy sitting room, being reassured by the fact that there was no need to rush or to worry, after so much had stacked up against her in the past. There was so much time now, all of it precious and entirely her own.

She could no longer call herself a lady's maid. She was a mother, and a wife, and there were no titles that she could ever wish to exchange her dearest professions for.

She would close her eyes slowly, watching the golden embers flicker down, keeping the three of them warm. As she succumbed to sleep, she would hear words from some time ago, when most of her dreams had remained such. It had taken some time, and a fair bit of tribulation, but now those same words were wholly true.

_I know only that I am now who I was meant to be._


	7. December 1926

It was a day much like any other, ever since she had begun staying home.

They woke together, John a few minutes before her – if William hadn't decided to wake before them both, and so ensure that they were up too. Such an occurrence was relatively rare; their boy was a good sleeper and gave them very little trouble, aside from when he had started teething. But now that horrible period was over he could sleep well into the morning. Like his mother used to be able to, or at the very least had the longing for.

She found she couldn't sleep until she woke up natural, not even now when she had the chance to. The earliness of the hour was too embedded in her bones. Once she had spent some time peering into Will's crib, checking that he wasn't too stifled by his blankets or perhaps needed some more, she would go down to make a start on John's breakfast. She prepared something for her husband every morning, enjoying the fact that she could take her time over it and add some variety to the usual pieces of toast with jam or marmalade that they both used to bolt down between readying themselves for the Abbey and leaving the cottage. Every morning, once she had got Will up, she was met with the same exclamations of surprise and dismay from John at the display that was waiting on the table.

" _My darling, you shouldn't have."_

" _There's really no need."_

" _Some toast will do me fine; you should have a lie-in for once."_

Every morning she would shake her head at his words and kiss his cheek, delighting in the gruff rumble that came rising from his chest into his throat at the press of her lips against her skin. She paid little mind to the rumble that came from her stomach as she dished out the food onto his plate, arranging the sacred meal with the utmost love. Today it was a generous helping of scrambled eggs heaped onto toast that was burnished just enough, complete with a few rashers of bacon that she had kept back as a treat. The arch of John's eyebrows as he both beheld and smelt the unmistakable and slightly smoky scent confirmed the unexpected quality of this addition; his wife could be a crafty one, indeed.

"It's a special day," she beamed across the table, bouncing their son on her lap as she readied the small jar of pureed food, wondering whether one would be enough. He seemed to be growing each hour, never mind by the day or month.

John smiled warmly in reply, not intending to argue or offer up any other reason, not when bacon was involved. His smile soon moved into a hearty chuckle when he saw Will's little arms reaching out, barely making the edge of the table, his blue eyes lighting up.

"Not until you're a bit older, son," he said reprovingly, still grinning as he took a bite from his fork.

William's legs kicked out and he began to bang one hand upon the table-top, soon placated when Anna put a heaped spoonful to his mouth.

"He's ravenous lately," she remarked. Indeed it took less than a few minutes for him to polish off the contents of the jar, looking up at her with those big eyes blinking, eager for more.

"That's not a bad thing," John replied, making faces at their boy between mouthfuls of his own.

"I suppose not."

She shifted Will from sitting to balancing against her, his two perfectly pudgy feet resting upon her thighs.

"You'll eat us out of house and home, sweet pea."

He started to babble and shake his head, and they both laughed at his attempts to voice his apparent disapproval.

"Oh, yes you will." Anna bounced him a little more vigorously, blowing a raspberry against the romper suit he was clothed in. "Everything will be all gone, from the ceiling to the floor, and we'll have to go and ask Mr Chirk if he will take us in instead."

"And he won't want to share his food with a little greedy guts," John interjected.

Will gave a cry, causing his parents to giggle again.

"Don't fret, darling, because that won't happen. You can have all of Daddy's bacon before he can get to it, and that should do the trick."

"And I will surrender it. Gladly."

Anna pressed a long kiss to Will's chubby cheek, passing him into his father's arms, her lips curving as she saw how happy and eager he was to reside there. She was never able to get over how natural John was with their boy, so loving and caring and utterly attentive. It was no great surprise to her, given how that was the way he had always been with her for as long as they were able to revel in one another's company alone, but she had known he had had his doubts before William had arrived. He did take special delight in the times he was proved right and she was proved wrong, bringing out that certain little smirk, but those times were rather few and far between. As father and son began to play and started to engage in their own little conversations, leaving her free to change from the nightdress and gown that she was still in, she thought that she much preferred to see the smiles he gave when he was completely carefree.

Just as he was at that very moment.

Before very long the three of them were standing by the door, one past the threshold. The time had come once more to wave John off for his day of work.

"You should go inside, by the fire," he said, reaching out a gloved hand to take hold of one of William's feet. "It's too cold for you to be standing here, seeing me out of the gate."

"It'll take more than the winter wind to stop us, Mr Bates," she answered, the defiance of the statement flattened completely by the smile that rested permanently on her face now.

"Ba!" William contributed, squealing loudly. John leant forward towards his son, his attention well and truly piqued.

"Are you going to see Daddy off, William?" Anna hugged their boy closer, wondering whether he might be encouraged by John's face as close as it was now, wearing an eternally hopeful expression.

"Go on, Will," he said, patting his palm against their baby's arm. "Just a little further."

Both held their breath for a second or two, John's back keeping out the chill that whirled from outside.

"Bababa," Will concluded, clapping his hand against Anna's shoulder in time with his babblings.

Anna tipped her head to the side, releasing a little sigh as she rocked her arms to and fro. "It can't be long now."

"So long as I don't miss it while I'm gone."

"Well," she trilled, reaching out momentarily to pick a small bit of fluff from the arm of his coat, "it just means that you'll have to hurry back sooner, doesn't it?"

There was always a little pang in her chest at having to say goodbye to him. It didn't make much sense, not when it would only be for a matter of hours and they had had to face separations that lasted far longer in the past. But perhaps it was the fact that neither of them could let go of those times completely which caused her to feel that small touch of sorrow. She longed for the day that he would be with them all the time, their little family strong and self-sustaining. Yet there was no real rush; she didn't want to buy the first property that turned up, just because it was available and affordable for them. It had to feel right. Besides they had moved along in other matters – one which was far more important.

The centre of their whole world.

For the next few hours, it was just the two of them.

"Right then, little man," she uttered, glimpsing a sudden and strong recognition of John's features in their son's face, "time to get you washed and dressed."

Bathtime was always something of an adventure. Half the time William was more interested in trying to play than to hold still long enough for Anna to ensure that he was thoroughly clean. She used to fret that he wouldn't like the water, would find it foreign and uncomfortable. The problem was that he liked it rather  _too much_ , and not for the purposes it was meant for. More often than not she ended up in the bathroom with a mop and bucket once he was down for a mid-morning nap, but she could never complain. When he was awake, Will liked to help her with the household chores. One day he had innocently taken to putting one of the dusters onto his head, wearing it like an impromptu and rather peculiar hat, and she had been almost incapacitated by the fact she was laughing so much. He understood well how much the sight had tickled her – their boy was so very clever – and ever since had repeated the action whenever he was able to wrestle the bit of material from his mother's grasp.

Her little boy gave her ever so much joy, from before noon until fairly late into the night. He was turning into a night owl, something he inherited from both of his parents.

Once he was properly dried, Anna carried him into their bedroom still swaddled in the towel but otherwise as naked as the day he was born. The bath had put him in a lively mood, and she couldn't stop herself from laughing gleefully as William wiggled about, doing the utmost to distract her from the task at hand – although he wasn't aware of any other intention than to play with his mama.

"Okay, seeing as it's all fun and games, you can choose what you want to wear today," she said, catching him still long enough to place a kiss against a slightly damp cheek.

Most days, to save her from another job, John had thoughtfully laid out a set of clothes for their boy – some days selecting a spare set which was rightly anticipated to go alongside the first choice on the bedcovers – doing so whilst he dressed for the day.

He probably thought consciously to the contrary today, quite purposely, and Anna smiled absently.

Whilst she had been momentarily lost in her daydream, Will had proceeded to pull item after item from the top drawer, giggling as he watched them disappear from sight onto the floor. Anna pretended to be shocked, opening her mouth wide and flaring her eyes. Far from putting a stop to it, her expression amused him even further.

It would be relatively easy to tidy up, so long as he didn't start upon the second drawer. He could stretch well enough but this morning he refrained, perhaps knowing that enough mischief had been caused. Yet Anna revelled in it, finding that she enjoyed attending to her son more than any other task.

"Well, you can't wear everything," she commented as William held several articles in his small but powerful grasp. "It'd be very stuffy and uncomfortable."

He looked at her with a bit of uncertainty, as if he wouldn't quite agree until he found out for himself.

She laughed tunefully, taking one thing after another that he willingly surrendered, folding them back as best she could with the aid of the top of the dresser to rest upon. Their back-and-forth game came to a stop when Will was reluctant to let go of one particular item, holding on to it tighter.

"You've made your decision, then."

When he relinquished his hands she smoothed out the sailor suit, running her hands over the crinkles and creases while William sat perched on the centre of the bed, happily occupied. She picked out a soft blue hand-knitted cardigan to go with it – the cottage was warm enough, but she still didn't want him to catch a chill – and then hurried back, meeting her boy's smile on recognition of her once again with one of her own.

"Mummy's here, sweet pea," she cooed.

She would be there as long as he needed her, for as long as she loved him.

Nappy securely in place, legs and arms through the suit, buttons on the cardigan left unfastened. The only thing missing was a kiss or two. She went for three, lured in by his comforting fresh scent.

Their morning went along happily, William laughing and clapping as his mother paraded around in front of him, perching on her knees to sing and play and run herself ragged. She didn't manage to get more than a couple of chores done, and those ones were rushed at best. They could be saved for another day. She remained house-proud, taking as much care as she did when she used to dust and polish the finest ornaments – rather some time ago in her duties as head housemaid,  _another life, so it seemed_. But she had in her grasp something far more precious, worth considerably more than any china tea-set. He didn't care much about the fact that the carpet hadn't been brushed today, still holding small and yet noticeable remnants of the season just passed, only wanting the play-time to continue.

She rose from her knees, the pressure a little much for the time being, lifting Will into her arms instead, leading him into a dance around the sitting room. She adjusted his arms into a hold that looked like it belonged to a waltz, as far as she could remember from watching Lady Mary dance at several balls over the years. Will was a natural, and she curtsied to him as their spins and twirls came to a natural conclusion.

Once she had fed him his lunch and held him close until he had dropped off to sleep, she had flopped down onto the settee, feeling rather exhausted herself but in a thoroughly satisfying way. She had closed her eyes – only for a minute or two – and was half-surprised to hear the click of the door drifting to her, followed by the gentle tapping of her husband's cane upon the hard floor in the hallway. He said he would be back earlier today, but she didn't expect him this soon.

"I've not long put him down," she explained, rising to meet the touch of his hand upon her back, kept warm from his gloves. "If only I'd have known, we could have waited for you."

"It doesn't matter," he replied, dropping a kiss against her neck that enlivened her.

She supposed that it didn't, really, but she found that she was impatient – probably more than William was. They both knew what was in store, having bought and wrapped everything together, but inside she fizzed with excitement, delighting in the thoughts of how utterly joyful their boy would be when he discovered his spoils.

"Best that he gets some sleep, before it all begins." John's smile was warmer than the fire that glowed in front of them, sending a spark to her stomach. "Besides, I'd like to spend a little time with his perfect mother first."

She couldn't suppress a sigh as he pressed another kiss soundly to her cheek.

"My wonderful wife."

Her arms draped at his shoulders, keeping him close as she inhaled, smelling the winter's air upon him. He gave her nothing but warmth, comforting her, waking all of her senses. He hugged her to him, and she felt searingly alive.

"They weren't disappointed, were they?"

She felt his head shake against the crook of her neck.

"His Lordship understood. I don't think he would expect it any other way." He pulled back, enough so that he could look into her eyes, his arms still circled securely about her. "We do have an invitation to the Servants' Ball."

"Even though I'm not one anymore?"

"I don't think the rules are quite so strict, not nowadays." The smile that had reached into his eyes was wonderful. "That's if you would even want to go."

She pretended to think for a moment, walking her fingers in line with the buttons of his shirt. "I'm sure the Tripps wouldn't mind looking after Will for the night. He likes them, even if you're not too keen."

Anna giggled at the look upon John's face.

"We do have to make sure that he's being social."

After a minute's hesitation, he relented.

"Anyway, I've been getting in a bit of practice today."

"Oh, have you, now?"

"No need to be jealous, Mr Bates," she trilled, starting to sway in his arms. "Your son is a very good mover. He takes after his father, in that respect."

He scoffed, knowing that she was being rather too kind. His hand slid down to her waist, holding her in what he believed to be the correct way.

"I'd better brush up in the meantime, hadn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know if there's the need," Anna said, throwing her head back with a bit of exaggeration, before stepping in closer to his frame. "But I wouldn't say no, either."

Laughter filled the cottage once more; they moved in a more gentle rhythm, before preparing dinner together. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, which was something he only chided her a little about. There would be enough of a feast in store to make up for the lack.

They were resting on the same spot on the settee, John having started to read whilst she picked up some needlepoint, when a cry from upstairs told them that their boy had awoken from his nap.

"I'll go," John murmured, standing before she had a chance to argue otherwise, offering a kiss to where her hairline met her forehead.

She didn't sit for long, too busy with fetching and arranging the presents, lining them along the floor in order of size. They hadn't gone overboard, but she supposed with Christmas having been a few days before then perhaps they had spoilt him slightly. Well, they couldn't help when he was born, and that it would always be the case.

Her two boys arrived in the room, William looking a touch groggy though he soon livened up as John bobbed him up and down in his arms.

"Look at all this, Will," he said, pointing round the room to offer help as Will wasn't sure where to look first.

"Happy birthday, my darling," Anna exclaimed, squeezing his feet gently whilst he stayed in John's hold. "Mummy and Daddy will help you to open your presents. Shall we do it now?"

"I think he's waited long enough," John smiled from his son's eager gaze to his wife's happy and beaming expression.

William sat in his father's lap, doing a rather good job of tearing at the paper on each present even if he couldn't manage to get it all off. His legs kicked out in happiness and his little hands clapped as he discovered his new gifts in turn – some more books to add to a growing collection, another teddy bear as well as a bunny rabbit, a wooden spinning-top and a little tambourine with smooth skin and shining silver bells all around. As he jingled and bashed it repeatedly, little laughs rising up from the sound of the shaking bells, they were full of joy and only a little trepidation at whether they had made the right choice.

"This is a special one, Will," John confided to his son's ear, bringing round a sizeable box from the side of the settee. He looked to Anna as William's hands grabbed at the elegant-looking wrapping. "His Lordship handed it over before I set off. I tried to tell him that we couldn't possibly accept, but he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"That's ever such a gesture," she clapped her hands to her face as the exquisitely painted train-set was unveiled. Anna wasn't sure she had ever seen something so fine, as John held one of the trains up to William for closer inspection. "Oh John, how will we face him?"

John's easy smile as he watched their boy's interest belied his own sense of feeling overcome. "We won't make it about us, but about William instead. And if he's enjoying it, then we needn't feel any kind of debt."

Will shook the train in his hand, and soon placed it on the floor when it didn't make a rattle, buzz or any other kind of noise. Swiftly, he picked up the tambourine again, and started to hit it against the side of the settee, making all of the bells ring out in succession.

"Or we could tell a slight mistruth about how much he likes it," John added, causing her to begin to giggle quite helplessly.

"And to think that cost hardly anything," she said, shuffling closer to her baby boy, enamoured with the instrument. "Is that your favourite, sweet pea?"

William nodded his head at his mother's words enthusiastically.

"Ba, ba," he repeated, in time with the music that filled the room. "Bang!"

Anna and John looked at each other with wide eyes, in clear recognition of the word that their son had just formed. His very first.

"Bang! Bang!"

"Yes, that's right!" Anna affirmed, incredibly joyful. "That's what you're doing, with your toy."

"Clever boy, Will," John followed. With a gentle hand, he lifted the tambourine from William's firm grasp, shaking it so that the bells tinkled tunefully.

"Da, bang," William looked up at his father, following the movement of the silver bells.

Tears threatened to spill from their eyes; out of everything, they hadn't expected such a wonderful gift for themselves.

"Oh, my darling," Anna grasped onto their boy's hand as John kissed his head, the grin on his face at what had occured unstoppable.

It hardly seemed that a whole year had passed since he had come into their lives, and yet life before was like a distant land. The happiest twelve months of their lives, with such discovery, some tears and plenty of smiles had gone by, almost in the blink of an eye.

The music played on, and with their little night owl they were able to see in the dawning of another year at the very second it broke, it appeared almost just for them.


	8. February 1927

He thought about his mother most days, in little moments.

After her death he had restricted himself, saving his memories for significant dates: birthdays, anniversaries that were only of importance between the two of them. It was not that he meant to do so; rather that the pain of loss was too much to bear on a daily basis. Not only grief, but regret too. Regret that he had caused her so much worry during her life, that during his darker days she had been subject to his sharp tongue and black moods when she had done nothing but stand tall and support him through it all. At times bringing her to mind seemed to compound his failures and shames; of letting himself fall victim to Vera's final scheme, of not being there to protect Anna when she needed him so desperately.

He hadn't always been the man she had raised him to be, emerging unbowed from the shadow of his father.

Since his son had been born, he was easier on himself. He made a point to fight his guilt with double the power it desired to wield over him. It was difficult not to think about his mother as William thrived, sometimes as the light fell a certain way over his perfect little features, noting a familial resemblance. Something as silly as the way he held his spoon, or the way he sipped from his small cup.

She would have adored to be a grandmother, no doubt would have showered her grandson in affection, fed him a little too much and wouldn't be too proud to give him a gentle scolding when needed. Her kisses and warm embraces would have far outweighed her words of warning.

There were moments when the guilt was close to claiming a victory, when he lingered too long on the side of dwelling about all that had been unavoidable. Their wait for a child had not been for lack of wanting on their part. So many obstacles had been placed in their path, and not one of them had been wholly expected. He had known realistically that his mother would never have lived long enough to meet a child of his and Anna's; indeed, if she had then their lives would have been markedly different.

Yet she had always been a wise woman. Full of foresight, many would often say, even if she had shrugged off their claims about having some sort of 'gift'. John was too logical to believe it either, and yet looking back he could not help but give over to a smile of acknowledgement.

_She lifted the cup and saucer up slowly once he had poured out the tea from the pot, the minutes passing by seemingly achingly slow. He had tried to steel himself, knowing that her once dynamic movements had long left her now that her faculties were failing. She had gone quite downhill in the two months since his last visit, and he berated himself heavily for not arranging something sooner. It was so hard to get away, especially when war was starting to take hold, but that was a poor excuse. Her hands shook almost violently as she fought hard to bring the cup to her mouth in order to take her first sip, and he noticed how pale and thin they looked too. He could fool himself no longer, could hardly ignore the ache that bloomed within his chest. It was likely the last time he would see her alive. He tried to go on with the charade, for her sake, he told himself._

_It was a struggle, edging on the unbearable for him to bear witness to, but she got there. The satisfied sound of her slurping the still warm liquid comforted him, as did the slight rattle of the bottom of the cup meeting the saucer as she held both within her grasp. He had thought briefly about asking her whether she wished for his assistance, but quickly thought the better of it. Even if she no longer possessed the strength to box him round the ear, her proud demeanour spoke volumes. Her abilities may have dwindled but her spirit burned, as it would do until she took her final breath._

" _How have things been?" He had dipped the biscuit into his tea but felt no appetite for it, placing it back onto the side of the saucer, leaving it to go partly soggy. "I'm sure you've got lots of stories of old London town to share."_

_In the dim light of the room, her eyes flared._

" _Come now, Johnny, you know very well I have nothing to tell." Her tone was not harsh or bitter, rather more pleasantly amused. "I can't leave the house anymore. I can barely leave this very chair most of the time. I'm not sure where I find the strength from, but I won't question God's reasons why."_

_He winced at his own inabilities to help, and his selfishness for hating being in London. "But you are getting help, from the doctor?"_

" _I am," she affirmed to his relief, "the poor man knows I'm a helpless case, but he still comes by every other day. And I have Mrs Kavanagh stopping every morning and night, and the Browns are very good too. Did I say that she's having her fifth now? God bless her, her hands will be full. The littlest one isn't even at standing yet."_

" _I think I gave you enough trouble as it was," he hid his smirk behind his own cup._

" _Nonsense. You were the best behaved out of them all. So good that I knew lightning couldn't strike twice."_

_He shifted in his chair, realising that it was impossible to grow out of the feeling of being a child in the presence of a parent, even as she was ailing, even as he towered over her. Cradling the teapot as if it was a sacred heirloom, he replenished her cup though it was more than half full._

_The touch of her hand upon his wrist stilled him. Though her touch was slighter than it once was, her palm was reliably and familiarly warm, a balm to his troubles. He could never imagine her growing cold._

" _Tell me, Johnny, how is that lovely girl of yours?"_

_Her head had arched higher against the back of the armchair, the amber glow of her irises cutting through him._

" _I hardly have a right to call Anna mine, Mother," he answered, the heavy weight sinking like a stone in his chest. He could barely fathom how she would wish to be with him so unswervingly, surrendering her young love to someone as old and broken as he was. And yet she was so adamant, refused to listen to his reasoning when he tried to convince her of his beliefs that she would be better off with someone else, someone who wasn't shackled to a hopeless destiny and would only waste her hopes and dreams along with his own, which had long fallen to the wayside._

" _When it comes to the heart, we have no say in the matter," she replied, a knowing smile lifting her thin lips. "She is yours, and you are hers, and there's nothing else that can be done except to cherish it."_

_Once more, in an entirely different surrounding than the quiet corner of the courtyard – with her blue eyes gazing up towards him, her delicate hand so close to touching – he found that he was defenceless._

_His mother let out a hacking cough, another and another, and his eyes went wide with fear. He braced an arm about her shoulders, feeling ineffectual in his comfort as she shook and trembled._

" _Promise me that you will let her know," she said as she recovered from the fit, head turning to look him full in the eyes. "A girl needs to be reassured, especially one as good as she is."_

" _It would be wrong, Mother, at least until I can be sure that I can find Vera –_

_She visibly lurched at the mention of the name._

" _I am sure that you and Anna are meant to be, and that you won't be alone either."_

_He coloured at her insinuations, frozen to the spot. A child, eternally, in awe of his mother and all the certainty that she possessed. It could have been a mere consequence of the fate she was resigned to, but looking into her eyes he seemed to know otherwise._

" _Time is short, John. You have to make the most of every bit of it, and not worry it away. Not over something so dear, when there's such little need to."_

_Holding onto his mother's hand, his heart consumed by Anna, he could do little but smile despite the sorrow that was waiting to surround him._

" _Give me something to look down upon," she whispered to him, leaning in so that he could smell the tea upon her breath._

_He couldn't have known that such a hope would be one of the last things he ever heard from her._

* * *

The house felt its quiet. The giggles of housemaids who were probably old enough to know better became amplified as they echoed down the corridors, and the sobs that had been stifled in the past were no longer allowed the cover of constant bustle and chatter to drown them out.

John had spent the best part of the morning consoling a distraught Mrs Patmore, offering a handkerchief from his pocket to stop her from using the corners of her apron and words that he hoped were comforting. After a few months of indecision Daisy had settled upon a date, timing her departure from the Abbey with the last quiet months before the farm would be at its busiest. Mrs Patmore confessed her guilt for half-hoping that the young woman may change her mind; think she might need just that bit more experience before moving on. And yet the cook knew it would be for the best; Daisy had worked hard to prove her capability over the years, despite her frequent and lovingly-meant scolding, and Bill Mason deserved the affection of another child where he could best feel it.

He was only a minute or so late in answering the call of His Lordship's bell, feeling relieved for it though some of his thoughts remained with Mrs Patmore. It was harder to detach, now that there were far fewer of them around the house. It was not only downstairs that the changes were felt. Lord Grantham took after his mother more than he cared to admit, and was unsettled by the turning of the tide though he understood well that it had to shift if Downton Abbey was not to meet the same fate as the residences of many of his acquaintances.

It brought to mind their army days for John, the atmosphere considerably safer as his superior instigated the flow of conversation. The particulars of the weather would be the usual starting point, given that they no longer shared the much closer commonality of fighting in battle, but they would fumble their way through onto more interesting matters. Today His Lordship lingered, making superfluous comments on topics it seemed purely to prolong their existence in the room. In the mirror John kept a glance for a few seconds, reading the sunken feeling beneath Lord Grantham's expression. He would not speak of it, of course, but felt the obligation to cheer the mood all the same.

"I'll head into Ripon later, m'lord. Your suit should be ready for collection."

"Excellent." He broke into a smile, which was another reprieve for John; hopefully he would not need to speak of much else to maintain the upturn. "I know it's probably an extravagance, but it does feel like an awfully long time since I was fitted. Reassure me, Bates; it isn't just my wishful thinking that my usual ones aren't as snug as they used to be, is it?"

John gave a small smirk. "Her Ladyship's regimes are working well."

"You could give me some credit for sticking to them."

"Indeed, m'lord."

He set the brush upon the shoulders of the jacket Lord Grantham was wearing, the hardly noticeable repair-stitch holding firm at the seam. Over the last year he had lost weight, thanks to a sensible diet and a good deal more walking around the estate, but the loss had been steady. The complaints had been fewer once he had got into the routine, but it was clear he was looking forward to the dinner that had been arranged at his favourite restaurant, the evening in question not too far away in approaching.

Straightening himself in the mirror, His Lordship nodded in approval.

"After her fussing that I shouldn't have bothered, I think Her Ladyship will appreciate the effort."

"I've no doubt she will, m'lord."

His laugh resounded rather loudly in the room, but John did not flinch. It was good to hear.

"Would you believe it, Bates, but Valentine's Day is the anniversary of mine and Lady Grantham's first meeting." Lord Grantham smiled rather wistfully. "Now I can recognise the irony of it, given that we didn't fall in love so much as grow into it."

Silence took over once more as His Lordship pondered, the years no doubt enlarging in his mind. John didn't wish to intrude, or otherwise to state his opinion on how it had all turned out for the best in the end. He was a distant observer to His Lordship's private life, and even when he was given the chance to comment that was the way it would remain.

"I trust that you have something special in store for Anna?"

Lord Grantham was not quite exactly of the same bent, but thankfully he did notice this.

"Pardon me, Bates, I'm being too curious."

"Not at all, m'lord." He arranged the discarded choices of cufflinks back into their confines, doing the utmost to disguise his unease. In truth, he had half forgotten which month it was, never mind the point within it. "It would be nice to mark the day, but we can't really depend on plans at this moment in time."

"Ah, I remember that, even if it was rather a while ago," Lord Grantham smiled. "You know that you are entitled to make use of Nanny's services, even if Anna is no longer working here. One night won't do a lot of harm." Struck by a sudden thought, his face illuminated. "I could make a few enquiries, if a change of scenery would be beneficial."

"It's very kind, but I'm not sure that it would be right for us."

John could not help but think of the last time that they had dined at such an extravagant establishment. It had been wrong from the start, but he had not wanted to discourage Anna, not when she had been so brave in even making the suggestion. She hadn't been ready for it, startling every time there had been a slip of cutlery upon china from another table. He didn't wish to let the experience put him off, yet he knew deep down that it hadn't been somewhere that Anna especially liked, quite aside from their circumstances at the time.

She had always preferred homelier comforts – the crackling of the fireplace, the use of his mother's most cherished china plates and teapot which they kept saved for special occasions.

"Bates?"

His Lordship's tone didn't sound confused or concerned, only gently rousing, pulling him out of the daydream that was threatening to break away and take over.

"Sorry, m'lord."

"Don't look quite so serious," Lord Grantham commented, the shadow of his smile remaining. "Whatever happens, I know that Anna will be very happy with your efforts."

Taking a final swipe of the brush upon His Lordship's arm, he paused, piecing the parts together.

"I hope so, m'lord."

* * *

The rain hammered against the window, only adding to the ambience of the arrangement. He may well have been able to arrange a few things but a miraculous change in the weather had not been one of them. The entirely appropriate conditions for mid-February meant that the picnic could not possibly take place out of doors, but their front room made for a perfect setting.

The tartan blanket was stretched out beneath them both, an unplanned but very happy reminder of the feast they had taken at Duneagle, with the same wicker basket planted in the centre, now only half-laden with goodies. With the help of Mrs Patmore, who had been glad of the distraction, John had made up a variety of sandwiches, wrapping and storing a few small pies to sit nicely alongside them. Of course Anna's sweet tooth also needed to be catered for; the little tea-shop in Ripon had done the job nicely with its cream cakes and jam tarts. It was only the fact that there were a couple too many to keep in the cupboard for the following days that he saw fit to tuck into a chocolate éclair and apricot tart, no matter if Anna's gleeful smile towards him suggested otherwise.

William was keen to help out on that score too, John cutting off a small portion of another éclair for him to sample. Not too much, else he wouldn't be able to sleep with the sugar rush. The cream and chocolate ended up smeared upon his fingers and cheeks, and they both chuckled as Anna kept him balanced in her lap, dabbing a damp cloth to clean up the mess. He had enjoyed his first picnic, even if he had wanted to feed his finger sandwiches to Billy Bear and Benjamin Bunny rather than eat them himself.

His blue eyes started to droop as the lamp lights flickered in the room, and his whimpers told that sleep was inevitable.

"Come on then, sweet pea, time for bed," Anna murmured, kissing his head and swaying him gently.

Will made a little mumble of disagreement, reaching one of his arms out towards the rest of the spread, before snuggling against her chest a few seconds later.

"I can take him," John offered, stretching his legs in front of him.

"I'm up now," Anna smiled, holding their precious cargo in her arms. "I don't think it'll take very long tonight, he's half there already."

John reclined back, looking up at their sleepy son and throwing him a wave. When the summer came around, he could have all the picnics he wanted out in the sunshine with the birds for curious company.

It didn't take long at all, and before he had the chance to clear much away she was back kneeling before him, her eyes bright.

"You needn't have gone to so much trouble," she chided gently, her beaming smile belying the angle of her words.

He watched as she smoothed the plaited edge of the blanket with her dainty fingers, the caress of her unthinking movements causing his throat to go dry.

"But you liked it?" he asked, feeling nervous for the slightest of seconds.

"I  _loved_ it," she exclaimed. John followed her hand with his eyes as she raised it from the floor, placing it upon his elbow and giving a small rub through his shirtsleeve, anchoring herself as she leaned to kiss his cheek.

He noticed how her eyes were glowing as she pulled back, not just owing to the amber of the lights surrounding them.

"And Will could be part of it too," she continued, the apples of her cheeks full as she beamed. "That made it absolutely perfect."

His heart beat happy in its rhythm, finally reassured that he had come to the right decision after all. Even if it was Valentine's Day, their boy was the centre of the world – the product of their great love for one another, and the love of their lives, aside from each other.

John plucked up Benjamin Bunny by one of his ears, sitting him on top of the basket. "Don't forget Billy and Benji."

Anna giggled, the sound reverberating like a beautiful harmony. "Of course I couldn't."

Swiftly the toy rabbit went back onto the floor, joining his bear friend as John prised open the basket's lid, a hint of mischief on his face.

"Now, I'm more than happy to make us some tea," he said, smirking as he noticed her rocking forward on her knees, attempting to sneak a peek at what was left within, "but I thought that perhaps this would make a nice change."

He was unable to stop himself from chuckling, observing the delight upon his wife's face as he produced the bottle of ginger ale.

Anna took the bottle from his grasp, her fingertips brushing against fire-warmed skin.

"Ale?" she noted. "Mr Bates, that's..."

"Racy of me?" he anticipated the ending of her statement. "Well, I  _am_ racy. Perhaps not quite as much as you, my darling, but I think I'm learning well enough."

She laughed again as she opened the bottle deftly.

"Well, it is a special day after all," she said, before taking a swig. "I think we can be let off."

Her other hand reached into the basket, the confusion plain upon her face when she encountered that it was empty.

"You've forgotten the glasses!"

He smirked as he carefully extricated the bottle from her hand, smoothing his palm against her skin in a tender caress before linking their hands together.

Not too later on, her hand would find his underneath the covers of their bed, her head pillowing upon his bare chest while they revelled in a sleepy and loving afterglow, making the most of one another and the serenity around them as their boy slumbered, snug and safe. Finding each other again and knowing that nothing had changed, passion and love remaining perfect partners.

"I didn't think you'd mind sharing, Mrs Bates."

He took a victorious swig, even happier about his decision when she pressed her lips to his, the taste of ginger passed between them with a shared giggle.


	9. March 1927

It seemed that planning for the future inevitably brought with it thoughts of the past.

He supposed he was preconditioned to spend the majority of his time within the latter, given that it was his nature to dwell. Even when he had resolved to move forward and make a fresh start, it refused to leave him – be it through his own choices or matters that were beyond his control. Some parts of it were favourable, others regrettable. There were aspects of the past that made him so overwhelmed with joy it felt almost alien to be revisited time and again with such euphoric happiness. There were fragments that caused him to weep at the most unexpected moments, sorrow and pain still raw within his bones as though he had lived it only yesterday.

Perhaps it had taken him longer than it should have reasonably done; perhaps there had been no other way. Some lessons took more uncovering to be learnt in their full extent. He had spent too long in the past trying to do the impossible: to  _change_ it. In his realisation – which was now too far away to be considered  _present_  – he found peace. At least, as much that could be added to the peace that had been in his possession since a time that could be pinned down to the date, the day, the minute and very second if he thought about it for long enough.

The future had too often been fleeting. With each hour that passed now, its horizon became wider. It was strange in many ways, but it was also completely wonderful.

It had been in the back of his mind for a while and since the turning of the year he became quietly convinced. The words of departure had not yet been uttered plainly, but John had little doubt that His Lordship was well aware of his intentions. He would declare himself within the next week, and already dreaded the look upon his employer's face, which he imagined would not be too much unlike Tia'a's expression when the young dog was refused a treat or scratch behind the ear.

He still imagined that it would take some time. After all, buying a property was only the beginning, and it had taken them goodness knows how long to agree a sale on his mother's house, the profits of which were yet to reach them in full. It was for the best to set the wheels in motion, however slow they might move. Half of him was as impatient as a child waiting for Christmas; they had been delayed in this matter far too long as it was.

He stretched in the chair, his back lengthening pleasantly, his hands steepled against his chin.

"Fifteen years," he found it impossible to refrain from taking on an air of reminiscence. Only a matter of inches away Anna sat, smiling up knowingly as she paused with the bundle of wool in her lap. "I hardly thought I would last fifteen minutes."

She tutted loudly, the sound almost echoing in their cosy sitting room.

"Silly beggar. You know that His Lordship would have you there for more than double that, if he was able."

John smirked as she pronounced those last few words deliberately, though it wasn't to her own knowledge. It couldn't be denied that he was eternally grateful to His Lordship for taking such a gamble on him, aware that few others would have done the same. He had enjoyed the work – not just because it was infinitely preferable to spending the rest of his life going from odd job to odd job, barely being able to say that he had a career.

Against all of his wildest expectations, he had been given more than he ever imagined in deciding that it was worth trying his fortune for a place at Downton Abbey. He had been blessed better than ever before. The love of his life had turned his life around, and he was not willing for anything else to take precedence above her and their child. Lord Grantham could beg and plead, promise a salary that would set them up beyond years, but he would not be budged.

Not a thing could stop him from ensuring that he made her dearest dream come true.

She picked up her needles again, and he found himself intrigued and charmed in equal measure by her sudden compulsion to knit as Winter turned into Spring, and a warm Spring at that.

"He'll miss you," she remarked with a casual kind of authority. She had been witness to the truth of that, in the periods when she had taken a small amount of solace from knowing she was not alone in her despair and hopelessness without him.

"Others won't," John replied, finding a little space within him to dwell once more.

Anna shook her head with a quiet fierceness. "It's like I've always said," she paused for a moment, mastering a tricky loop with her fingers working nimbly, "there's no accounting for taste."

He chuckled aloud, not wanting to consider all of the times she had defended him against the cuts and slurs of others but being so thankful and bursting with love for her that she did so, so unquestionably. The look on her face that appeared seconds after he had laughed made him warm from the tips of his toes and for a time that remained countless he mused upon her beauty, so pure and natural, showing from the very depth of her.

He watched her work and offered her tea, settling close by her when she told him that she was quite alright.  _But thank you_ , always replying with a smile.

She laid out the half-formed garment, transformed from mere strands of wool, out onto her lap. The future would have to tell them both what it would turn out to be, but whatever it was he was certain it would be very fine indeed.

"Think of all the good things you did. Of the difference you made. That's what I tried to do," she said, her voice edged with softness.

He smiled, reaching his hand to rub against her thumb. He did not have the same affection for the Abbey as Anna had, but there was no doubting that it had meant a great deal to him.

The moment passed as quickly as it had fallen, and he was glad to see her face brighten again.

"It hasn't always been easy, but think of all the good things," she echoed herself, her own hand falling upon his knee. "You hold them with you, and take them wherever you go."

He looked into her eyes, smiling rather stupidly – far more than was appropriate for such a contemplative evening. Before she could ask him what it was for, though he had an idea that she was already aware, he pressed his lips gently to her forehead, rejoicing when he felt her smile in return.

"I have the two best things with me, for always," his heart burst almost to say it, "and I couldn't ask for anything more."

He took her into his arms, filling up as she nestled against the crook of his neck. Not long afterwards they went upstairs, smiling with sudden sleepiness and joy that brimmed as they checked upon their sleeping son, the small and slightly jerky movements he made telling them that he was in the middle of a dream.

John himself dreamt that same night; of a fine and bright day at the beginnings of Summer, pride sending him soaring as he gazed upon his wife and son standing outside the door of a pretty little inn edged with flowers.

* * *

Pleased that he'd made it home with enough time to spare John set about changing, wondering vaguely whether it would actually do any favours for the proprietors to see him in his valet's garb. After a minute or two of deliberation he settled in his original thinking; this was about a new beginning, and it would only be right to reflect that in every aspect.

His Lordship had once again shown great kindness, granting him leave from the house once the last button had been fastened upon him before breakfast, with the promise that he could return for the dinner dressing. Much more than the standard half-day. It would give them more than enough time to get to Ripon, have a good look around the property and perhaps even enquire to what else was available in the area. No need to rush. They might even be able to stop in one of the tea-shops – William was well-behaved enough to take inside – and he smiled at the prospect, thinking what a treat it would be.

He threaded his tie with precision, tucking it beneath the brown waistcoat as he appraised himself in the mirror. He hadn't realised until now that he had picked out the suit he had got married in to wear that afternoon, but perhaps it would bring a stroke of luck.

William was ready to go, sitting in his pram and amusing himself with the rattle of his beloved tambourine.

"Sounding better than ever, Will." He smoothed the boy's darkening hair, dropping a kiss upon his head. "Now, where has Mummy got to?"

Knowing she was anticipated, Anna emerged from the sitting room, clutching her bag between worried fingers.

"All ready?" John asked, sensing that something wasn't quite right.

She smiled weakly in response, lowering her voice to no louder than a whisper. "I think it might be best if I take a trip to the doctors' first."

His heart began to pound within his chest no sooner than she had finished speaking.

"Is there something wrong? Is it William?"

"He's fine and dandy," she answered his frantic pleas without missing a beat. "And I'm quite sure there isn't anything wrong. I'd know if there was."

A hand went up to his collar, as though he thought loosening the knot of his tie would take away the tightness around his throat. He watched as she shuffled closer on her heels toward him, her eyeline still uncovered from the current lack of a hat.

"I've been feeling a little out-of-sorts for a couple of weeks, give or take." Without needing to fumble or seek for too long, her fingers closed over his hand. The clamminess of her skin quickly became apparent, but he only cared about the legitimacy of her touch.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he questioned, purely out of concern and too-aware of his fussing ways.

Sure enough, her reply was testament to his expected reaction. "I didn't want to worry you, not if there was any need." She paused for a moment, and if he hadn't been so consumed with anxiety he would have noticed her loop the handles of her bag over her wrist, and the way she flattened her palm against her stomach. "Or rather, I didn't want to get your hopes up."

It took a few seconds, and almost a need for him to pinch sharply against his skin.

The smile started to look easier upon her face now. "I think I've done quite enough of raising hopes for the both of us in the last week."

 _Oh, God._ He felt the most glorious sense of déjà-vu, even though it wasn't quite as exact.

"You're saying..." He was holding her hand with both of his, reassured that this was real. From his pram William cooed happily, jangling the small silver bells as if in celebration.

Anna nodded, restraining the beam from transforming her expression completely. It was already too late for John.

"Almost certain," she said, a touch cautiously. His urge had turned towards wanting to sweep her skywards. "But a better opinion is called for, just before we get ahead of ourselves."

Suddenly, it made no difference if Ripon was five or five thousand miles away. God knows whatever was there could wait.

* * *

It had remained the most wonderful thing, each nerve and fibre in his body recalling how they had sprung to life when Anna had uttered those words in the relative privacy they had created for themselves.

_Very, very happy._

_Really._

John continued to cherish the words to this day, holding the product of their love in his arms and feeling the soft huffs of his breath fall against the side of his neck.

Hearing Doctor Clarkson pronounce the correct terminology, and sitting beside Anna while he did so, was significantly different but just as astounding. Perfect, and perfectly wonderful.

He remained at her side, shaking himself momentarily out of the indescribably happy daze that had overtaken his whole being.

"How far along is it, Doctor?" As William's sturdy weight rested against his chest, he slipped one hand down to settle upon Anna's knee.

"Oh, I'd say nine weeks, possibly ten."

John felt Anna tense beneath his fingertips as she looked towards Doctor Clarkson.

"That far along?" she queried, the first time she had showed any sign of panic all day.

Doctor Clarkson's expression stayed the same, which John took as a positive. "There's very little to fret about, I can assure you, Mrs Bates. I would suspect that your body may have adjusted slightly from the first procedure, which gives some insurance."

John heard Anna exhale a breath she was keeping tightly held.

"Still, it is best that we book you in now, to be on the safe side. It's Doctor Ryder in Harley Street, that's right?"

"Yes," Anna replied, as John nodded along too.

Collecting his notes, the doctor made to stand. "There is a hospital in Manchester that performs the same procedure. It would be less distance for you to travel, and I should also think..."

"Doctor Ryder is who we'd like to stay with," John interjected, his tone measured but containing enough authority to clarify the matter.

"Of course," Doctor Clarkson replied calmly, offering a small smile to them both. "I can get a message to his office now. And allow you some time for the news to sink in. Congratulations."

He could hardly hide his grin as the three of them were left alone in the appointment room. With a surge of joy that felt like it could be finally unleashed, he bounced their son in his embrace.

"Did you hear that, Will?" he near sung, "you're going to be a big brother. Do you like the sound of that?"

"Yay!" William cheered, clapping his hands in absence of the tambourine that lay in his pram.

"Yay, indeed," John beamed, nuzzling and shaking his head against William as he placed kisses against the soft skin, causing the boy to giggle first, swiftly followed by Anna to do the same in her response to the scene.

John held still for moments as he turned to face her, sitting serenely and appearing more breathtaking than ever. Maybe it was impossible, but with the knowledge they now possessed she seemed changed, wearing the same glow that he knew with hindsight was the  _something_  special about her when she carried their first child.

William grew a little restless in his father's arms – understandable, as they had had such an exciting day already – so John settled him back into the pram, tucking a blanket around his little body.

"Oh, my love," he breathed, almost kneeling in front of her – if his leg would have allowed it – clasping both of her hands. He substituted his next breath for a kiss upon her cheek, filling his lungs with her, feeling the promise of life dance upon his lips.

Pulling back, he gazed into her eyes.

"This is wonderful."

She nodded in agreement, her lips pursed and a faint shimmer in her eyes. "I'll feel better when it's been done. But now we know that it works..."

Again, she said it quietly, as if sheltering a candle's flame from a harsh rainstorm.

He smiled in reassurance, stroking his palm over her skin and watching her smile grow steadier as the seconds passed.

"And I feel better already knowing that it's definitely real. That I wasn't just dreaming, or hoping."

John nodded in understanding, kissing her knuckles one by one.

Anna smiled, shivering slightly at the caress of her husband's mouth upon her skin. "I suppose it also explains why I've started knitting again!"

He chortled heartily at her reasoning. "Yes, I suppose it does."

They shared a look and smile – one that held the world within it – before she tugged upon his sleeve lightly, telling him without words that he should stand up straight again, for the sake of his leg.

"We should get back home," John uttered, grasping the handle of the pram and wheeling it forth a little, being careful not to wake William who had begun napping.

"I haven't turned into an invalid within the space of half an hour," she exclaimed, teasing him lightly, which he gladly accepted. "We'll have enough time to catch the next bus into Ripon."

He couldn't say that he had forgotten about their plans for the day, but as their world had revolved so swiftly – in a way that he would not possibly ask to change - he found that his thoughts had done the same too.

"Don't you think we should delay?" he said the words without much consideration for the opposite notion. "I mean, this changes things – in the best possible way."

When Anna had left service they had once again revisited their dream of owning a little hotel, the idea seeming even more appealing now they had a child to dote upon. At that time they had both agreed that William was a little too young and still required most of their energies. But when he had turned one year old, and the spring had arrived, it would be the ideal period to begin their search in earnest.

Even though they may have secretly hoped, neither of them could have imagined another baby making itself known at that precise time.

"Doesn't this give us  _more_  reason to move?" Anna replied, countering him. "As much as I love the cottage, we don't have a lot of room as it is. William can share with the little one for a while, but it would be nice for him to have his own space, too."

He was unable to stop himself from grinning like an almighty fool. That she felt so assured to talk about the new baby, whom they hadn't known about definitely for very long at all, showed just how far she had come and made him ever so proud.

She fiddled with the clasp upon her bag with one hand, while the other already rested protectively over her middle. "If it's about money, then we're not doing too badly. We'll have the rest of the money from your mother's house soon enough, and I still have a fair bit put by. The baby can have some of William's things, there's enough that would suit a girl as well as a boy."

His wife, ever practical and always seeing the possibilities.

"And perhaps I could go to Manchester," she added, her voice lowering a touch. "Doctor Clarkson seemed to be implying that it would be cheaper, and I suppose it would be."

John shook his head vigorously. "I won't hear of that. I want the best for you." He stopped a moment, fighting to keep his composure. "For the both of you."

She tilted her head, smiling softly towards him. He half expected another 'silly beggar' from her to lighten the mood, but one never came.

"It's not about the money," he continued, assuring her by moving back closer to where she sat. "Of course, I want us to be comfortable and secure. And if that means spending what's stored away on saving our dream hotel from rack and ruin, then I wouldn't hesitate."

Anna giggled. "I hope it wouldn't be a total wreck!" She reached her hand out to him, bringing him nearer still. "But as long as we're all together, I wouldn't care. I'd live in a tin shack with the rain coming through the roof, and I'd be happy to have you and our family."

A  _family_. It was all he had ever wanted too, and he was the luckiest man to know that it would be growing again.

"You deserve a palace, my darling. And the children acres to run about and play in to their heart's content." He raised his eyebrows, a thought that hadn't come completely out of the blue catching him. "We should put a little bit aside, in case we need to make any future trips to London."

"John," she exclaimed, half in shock and half in delight, "let's not count our chickens before they hatch."

He chuckled loud. "Is that what we're calling them now?"

She laughed with him, her face brightening yet more as he cupped her stomach gently with his palm.

"I'm not saying we have to delay for too long, and we can still look. Just that it's a lot of effort on its own to get a business up and running, without the addition of a baby."

She nodded in agreement, and John felt a certain relief flood through him. They were so often of the same mind – and if anything, it was her persuading him to see the right side of things much more than it was the other way round. If she still wanted to plough ahead with the process, standing firm as she continued to grow once more with the wonder of another life, then he couldn't have imagined he would have too many arguments.

"You're right," she replied, even though he had no desire to hear the words. "I want to enjoy every moment I can with this one." Her hand sat on top of his, both imagining in a few months the bump that would appear once more. "And I won't be able to do that if I'm running ragged."

His lips quirked perceptibly; he didn't want to be so overbearing this time around, but he would always cherish his wife no matter what condition she was in.

"Time is precious," he uttered, knowing the truth of what he said and knowing that she did too, more than anyone. "I'll ask His Lordship if I can lessen my duties in the next few months, he doesn't require as much as he once did. And of course, I won't tell him the reason why, unless you want me to."

She shook her head softly. "You can tell him, if you like. Just once things are all running smoothly. I'm sure everyone would be happy for us."

They would be; the Crawleys had always been so generous of spirit. But so long as Anna and William – and the new little one – were content, it was all he minded about.

"I don't want to miss out on anything, if I can possibly avoid it." He bent his head, angling his voice towards Anna's stomach. "Did you hear that, Baby Bates number two? You'll be sick of your old dad's fussing before you're even out in the world."

Anna chuckled, linking her fingers with his upon her tummy. "I doubt that very much."

To think, at the start of this day he hadn't thought he could be any happier, planning for the future that seemed as bright as it could possibly be. Time and time in the past he had been proved wrong, and he was more than happy to be once again - and once again it was Anna who had defied all his beliefs.

"Well, Mrs Bates, if you're up to it then I think we should go into Ripon after all." He smiled at the curious look she fixed him with, giving it cause to quickly fade away. "We'll need to have a cup of their finest tea and a cream cake or two to celebrate."

Anna answered him with a smile, rubbing against her stomach in contentment at the plan.

"We better had make a move," she agreed, getting to her feet and wheeling the pram back and forth in a gentle rhythm, lulling their sleeping child within. "Poor Doctor Clarkson has a waiting room full."

He coloured lightly, having forgotten where they still found themselves. Soon enough the matter occurred to him less, and he was once again caught in the wonder of his wife's surprised smile and delighted laugh as he tugged her tenderly towards him, keeping one of his hands upon the handle of William's pram.

"Let them wait a couple of minutes longer," he said, as he kissed her soundly, thrilling to feel the beaming smile upon her lips.

Their future was indeed that bit brighter.


	10. April 1927

His hand was in hers, helping her from the platform up onto the train – though at this stage she was hardly changed, at least by outward appearance. She gave him a smile once she was on board, a little amused by her elevated station whilst he remained, momentarily, on the flat.

With one hand shielding their precious cargo – at the moment it seemed to be her default position, a habit of protection she was almost superstitious to keep up – she extended her other to assist him on board, a returning of the favour that was a simple, unthinking act of love between them.

"I can manage."

His near-whispered words returned as a distant echo, and she found herself going back further than his arrival, recalling the first time she had been one of the travelling party when even as a rather lowly housemaid she was considered important enough to accompany the family on a trip to the seaside. There hadn't been many servants invited along, and a couple of the other maids had resented her enough as it was for how Lady Mary chose to speak to her but none of the rest of them. But it was hardly of any matter. She forgot about their snide words and withering looks, and instead rejoiced in the feel of the sea breeze upon her face, the swish of the lighter cotton dress around her ankles. She had picked up an unusual-looking and large shell on her exploration of the shore, and though she had never seen its kind before in her life seemed to know the instinct for nestling it against her ear and hearing the calling of the sea, the strange but enchanting and instantly soothing sounds that she imagined were songs from the creatures beneath, singing in that moment only for her.

John had rounded the words as he spoke them this time with a smile, telling her that he had chosen the phrase purposefully. She had never been in doubt of his abilities – and indeed she was thankful for his way of moving through steadily, his quiet and yet steadfast strength in the face of adversity – but she had always wanted to offer a hand to him, out of courtesy but more because she was compelled. To touch him, to recognise him, to acknowledge the connection running deep and strong as the currents that fuelled the greatest ocean that had existed between them from their first meeting, but was all the more powerful for the moments they had shared, the bonds they had forged.

The lives they had created.

They had the compartment to themselves, at least until very near London. John placed his hand in hers as they sat down, only breaking their contact to take out and unwrap the sandwiches he had made for the journey. She noticed how warm it was, the slight roughness of the inside of his palm comforting as it caressed her own.

Her mind couldn't help but drift, even in the incomparable safety she felt surrounding her.

"Do you think we should have brought him with us?" Her tone was momentarily mournful, regret sitting deep within her. It  _did_  feel like a piece of her was missing, a portion of her heart left behind in the place they hadn't yet departed. It was unbelievably strange not to have him fixed to her hip, his soft head resting on her shoulder and his little arms sturdily anchored around her neck.

"He'll be fine." She couldn't not believe John's words when he said them, his voice draping over her like a blanket. "It might do him good to have a bit of independence."

The thought horrified her. She didn't want to imagine him ever not needing her, especially not when he was still a baby.

His other arm circled about her, resting gently near to the flat of her stomach, still partly covered by her coat.

"He is too young," she sighed, repeating the reasoning that they had both come up with for leaving their son behind on this occasion. "For a trip like this. I wouldn't want him to be frightened..."

Her voice trailed off as she fought with all her might to stave off tears. It was true; she wouldn't be out of bed for two days after the procedure, at least not if John had any say in the matter. William was getting to be so active, he would be content to sit peacefully for not longer than ten minutes before his limbs, never mind just his feet, would get figuratively itchy. Mama simply would have to play with him, not lie there watching him as he had all the fun.

It made perfect sense, but it did not stop the pang from clawing at her heart. She had only been at the most a few hours away from her boy and she missed him terribly. They hadn't even left Downton yet, and already she was pining.

Her head pillowed upon John in much the same way that William's dark blonde head often lay upon her. The hush and hum of his breath against her temple lulled her as the heavy wheels they rested upon set themselves in motion, and for the first half-hour she clung to him with pinching fingers, though he did not complain.

Instead he only whispered in her ear, holding her close regardless of her need for him to do so.

"I know, my darling," he said, her emotion clear and mirrored in his voice. "I know."

He let her be silent and knew when to distract her, idly talking to take her mind off immediate concerns. He never thought he was much good at such chatter but it seemed to come perfectly natural to him when they were together, and he did it just as well with Will, conversing near enough all the time at the moment to encourage their boy's expanding vocabulary.

 _It was nice for them to go to London,_ she thought. She couldn't remember the last time they had gone, just the two of them without being part of a band of servants, however small. The novelty of it was not lost on her, even if the circumstances were not quite the ideal. John jokingly mentioned that they should drop in on the new tenants of his mother's house to see how they were finding things. It wasn't a bad thought – she was keen to know a little more about the couple who had taken the house on, and wondered if they might become friends from afar – but it would certainly need to wait for another time. She wasn't exactly sure when that would  _be_ ; not any time soon, when they would have two young children to guard and care for and love more than anything else in life.

The gentle chug of the carriage settled her for the most part and she cast her eyes to the window as the rolling hills and scenery of the countryside blended together, earth meeting sky as if both had been painted in a perfect harmony. She was struck by the contrast of the previous trip that had been taken, anything but calm, dashing against the ever-falling darkness and fearing more with every breath she had managed to take. Her former mistress sitting by her side as a helpless and worried passenger, rather than her husband.

She held the two distinct pictures in her mind, finding comfort in the difference, particularly as John continued to hold her hand delicately, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the band of pure gold sitting at home upon her finger.

She was aware of the faint ache, very low down in her abdomen, and knew that it was a phantom. Her palm pressed there with the very same delicate manner John showed to her, doing her duty and feeling better on the instant for it. Still, she knew she wouldn't be able to breathe easily until a little less than forty eight hours had passed.

Their hotel was a short cab ride from Harley Street, a neat town-house that worried John with the narrow width of its stairs though he was quite content with the twin beds furnishing their room. Anna was not as satisfied with that fact, and wondered whether they might push them together for the first night at least. Four nights in a hotel in the centre of London was awfully extravagant, but she kept telling herself that money did not matter, nowhere near as much as ensuring that their baby was safe. She would give all the money she had and more besides to be reassured of that. John commented that they wouldn't be charging as much once they had somewhere of their own, though he did wonder if it may be somewhere to consider in the quite distant future. It was very pretty, Anna had to admit, and the beds were very comfortable.

The journey had tired her more than she cared to admit, largely down to the anticipation of the days ahead. She reached for him, her hands falling upon the forearms that were uncovered by the sleeves of his undershirt, and kissed his cheek. It rasped slightly against her skin; he would need to shave again in the morning.

"Goodnight," she uttered, still rather overwhelmed that he was here with her, giving her the confidence she needed. One of her arms lowered, and she sensed John's smile upon her as she stretched the fabric of her nightgown. "And goodnight to you, little one."

 _Stay safe_ , she thought and prayed.  _Just a little while longer._

She slept longer than she had expected to into the next morning, startled to find the sunlight streaming through the curtains, delightfully warm upon her face. Glancing to the left side of her she found John sitting bolt upright in his bed, book open in front of him.

"I hardly slept a wink," he confessed. I doubt it will be any different tonight."

He was more nervous than she as they arrived at the surgery. It was a far cry from Doctor Clarkson's little rooms, the ceiling rising up high over their heads. She could understand his intimidation; she had felt some of the same way when she had first come with Lady Mary. Her feelings had been a very heady mixture that day. She was rather used to the place and all its relative grandeur by now, and associated it with protection – just as she did the man sitting next to her.

"It's not unusual for men to be here," she leaned toward him in her chair, her hand covering over his. "Do you know, Lady Mary told me that Mr Crawley had been, once."

John nodded and smiled a little weakly, and it was with the recollection of Mr Crawley that she was overcome with emotions, relief and gratitude being the primary. The hand of misfortune had touched them, and at times it was as though its grasp would never be lifted. How  _very lucky_ she was to have her husband, a thriving little boy and a baby growing steadily within her. Yes, there were hurdles to overcome, but when they were placed against the pitfalls that had befallen others close to them they seemed incredibly small.

She thanked God for her blessings once more, and in the midst of doing so Doctor Ryder had descended the stairs.

"Mrs Bates, it's very good to see you again," he said warmly. "And Mr Bates, it's a pleasure."

To Anna's surprise, John had got to his feet, standing straight as a rod. A vision she couldn't have known confronted her, of John in his army days, only missing his uniform but possessing the same sense of honour and urgency.

"I hope it won't alarm you to hear me say it, but thank you, Doctor. For everything."

Anna couldn't prevent herself from smiling widely at the sight of her gracious husband, being as forthcoming with praise as she had almost ever seen him, standing in front of a rather flustered Doctor Ryder.

"That's very kind of you to say, Mr Bates, but I am simply providing a small intervention in what is entirely natural."

They shared a glance, Anna noticing how John's cheeks had coloured faintly red, even as the doctor spoke plainly in his professional manner.

"Mrs Bates, we shall see how everything is proceeding today. If all is well, and I have no reason to suspect that it would not be, then the stitch can be placed tomorrow as scheduled."

She nodded, rising from her seat. For a moment she felt John's hand upon her shoulder, and turned before she proceeded to follow the doctor.

"Anna," her name left his lips softly, the concern written upon his face.

"There's no need to worry, Mr Bates," Doctor Ryder interjected, as Anna continued to smile to him, speaking her own assurances in their own silent, secret language. "Mrs Bates is very capable. One of the strongest I've seen."

She kept her gaze upon her husband as he smiled, exhaling a small sigh.

"I have no doubt of that, Doctor." His smile widened as he gazed toward her, his eyes shining. "Absolutely no doubt at all."

* * *

There was only one living memory she had of sleeping in the afternoon, the occurrence being so infrequent that it could not even be called  _rare_  – as that would make it appear much more than a mere fragment. She had been very young, not more than three or four, and a stomach ache had brought her back to bed while it was still light outside. By her side, her father had propped himself and she did her utmost to stop her eyes from drooping shut as he read aloud to her, his voice taking on different guises. From below her mother made hushing sounds as her work in the small kitchen was interrupted, her sister wailing as babes in arms were wont to do. Her father stopped for a moment or two, telling her everything was well as she shuffled closer to his chest. Jenny's cries did fade away after a while, and she never could remember the end of that one story, succumbing to the pull of sleep. When she woke up just in time for supper she felt well enough for a bowl of soup and some bread, laughing as her younger sibling eyed the spoils enviously, not old enough yet for such delights.

She was fresher today, the hour-long nap being just enough to repurpose her senses. Yesterday she had been drowsy enough to temporarily forget that she was away from home. She pulled herself up a little, keeping one hand upon the mattress as she stretched her limbs, a little cautiously. She couldn't feel much at all, except a little tenderness at the lowest point, but it was hardly anything. It wouldn't be noticeable until she was up and about properly, yet the times she had got out of bed thus far had proved more than promising.

The faint sounds of the world outside brought everything to life once more, a smile spreading across her face as she listened. After a little while of worrying – worrying that had been easier to contend with this time around – she figured she was entitled to smiling.

John opened the door without making the slightest bit of noise, clearly anxious not to disturb her if she was still asleep. When she turned her head on the pillow toward him, his gaze brightened.

"How is London?" she asked him, hardly having seen much of it herself on this trip.

"The usual," he replied with a softness that complimented her recently woken state. "Raining."

He had not brought an umbrella with him but he didn't seem to be too affected. Anna imagined that he hadn't gone far, and the weather was not an excuse. He had hardly strayed from her side since she had emerged from one of Doctor Ryder's treatment rooms, bending at the knees and wrapping a steady arm higher than her middle, there for her to lean on. Making up for time, though there was not the least bit that he needed to. She loved it though; the feeling of being cared for, so thoroughly. John equally relished his role as protector and provider, everything seeming to him just as it was meant to be. She almost mourned that she had taken the chance away from him before, but it had been preferable at the time. If there was something she couldn't have borne should it cause both of their hearts to break irreversibly, it was false hope.

His smile grew deeper, and yet also had the hint of lightness to it. "I brought something back for you."

From behind his back he produced a medium-sized bar of chocolate, as elegant as anything she had seen in its pink and gold wrapping.

She smacked her lips together, her mouth already watering in anticipation. "And that will do for supper?"

He chuckled, carefully prising the bright packaging apart, breaking off a chunk. It tasted richer than she was expecting, utterly lovely as it melted upon her tongue.

"I'll order up something of greater substance in a while," he replied, taking the tiniest piece for himself and leaving her with the spoils. "But I want them to be accustomed. A sweet tooth, just like their mother and brother."

Her heart fluttered while she lay calm and still. "You spoil us, Mr Bates."

He turned for the slightest moment, retrieving two volumes out of the bag they had been escorted from the bookstore in. Anna gasped at the copy of  _Sonnets from the Portuguese_  he handed to her with an almost coy smile; it had long been a favourite of hers, and she did own a battered, well-thumbed copy, but this one was encased in embossed leather with gold-leaf edging the pages. It smelt even better than the chocolate, something she hadn't thought possible, and she cradled it against her chest.

"John," she exclaimed, "this is beautiful. It must have cost you a small fortune."

Shaking his head, he held the other book purchased out in both hands for her to examine.

"I know he has enough already, but I couldn't see anything else that he might enjoy as much."

Anna beamed, nodding in agreement. Their Will was truly his father's son, loving each book that was read to him better than the last. She edged the cover with her fingers, tracing the title and smiling at the appropriateness of it.  _The Velveteen Rabbit_. Benji was becoming a little dog-eared already with the love he was constantly shown by their affectionate little boy.

The emotion caught in her throat again, unable to be restrained for the moment.

"I miss him," she confided to the one heart able to relate. "Whatever did we do without him?"

Even a few months ago the same question would have been far more bittersweet, edged not with doubts that had passed with the joy of his arrival but the reminder of the pains they had endured before he had came, a light in both his appearance and nature but much, much more in meaning.

While that resonance remained, new life gave even greater hope.

His lips pressed against her hair, the shape of them staying long after he pulled back. "We'll be back soon enough. Enough to count the minutes, if you'd prefer."

The reassurance he gave made her feel further at peace, the look held within his eyes wrapping comfort around her. She missed his arms though, the warmth of his chest as she rested her back upon it; his embrace that made her at home even if she was a million miles away.

"Scoot nearer," she urged, staring at the chair he sat upon as if she somehow possessed the power to move it closer with the sheer force of her will. With only a moment of hesitation, he did as she asked, the volume of poetry back in his hands. "Could you try and move your bed over tonight?"

"Would it be alright?" he said, the words lying on the surface of his tongue. "I'll take the doctor's words about not needing to change our routines, but isn't it too soon? I don't want to do anything to...upset."

She sighed, half in loving frustration at his caution.

"I'll be more upset if you don't," she replied, smiling so that she didn't offend his nature. "Obviously we can't be... _intimate,_ not in that way. But I just want to be near you, lay my head on your chest to hear your heart beating." It was the most simple but most wonderful of the pleasures afforded to her as a wife, one which she never underestimated. "I've missed you, too."

She was more than happy to see him smile, his mouth leaving a kiss upon the back of her hand while her other rested beneath the covers. In a few hours time it would be replaced by his larger one, keeping up his protective role as they both slumbered.

"Let me rest for a little while first," he said, his tone hiding a hint of mischief that she was beyond joyful to detect. She watched him as he opened up the book, relaxing his shoulders and leaning so she was able to rest her head into their crook.

He read sonnet after sonnet, page after page to her until late into the night, and she absorbed every word, eyes wide open and heart full of wonder for the months that lay ahead.


	11. June 1927

The summer had been glorious, though as yet they were barely in it. Pleasantly warm sunshine rested on the back of her neck, reminding her of days long past. It was wise for her to have taken out a shawl as it would only grow warmer as the afternoon went on – and her body temperature was already higher than usual, thanks to the considerable weight she was carrying, but she wouldn't have changed it for the world. Having a few more glasses of water to compensate was a small price to pay, even if she did also have to make more trips to the toilet, too.

The garden was the most perfect place in which to while away these long but absolutely blissful afternoons.  _Compact_  rather than  _small_ , it had been woefully neglected until the end of the year gone by. Well, they had both always been busy with work, and making the inside of the cottage homely and comfortable was their main priority. There had been other things getting in the way as well; the pitfalls of life, pain that had been characterised by its pointlessness. And yet none of it could have been avoided.

She had planted an iris that autumn, remembering within the fog of her despairing mind that it was a symbol of faith and hope. Her own hope had taken so many knocks that she needed something to bolster it again, help her along through the darkest of days and longest of nights with only the memory of him and the desperate prayers that wherever he was, he was safe from harm. That hardy little plant had weathered the rain and sometimes storm-force winds, thriving over the past few seasons and coming into its third year, blooming more beautifully than ever. It was kept company by an array of other flowers which were beginning to fulfil their own unique beauties just as well, having been planted as the last few days of the winter just gone made way for spring. Now that summer was here they could make the most of them, appreciate the fruits of their labour – which had been accompanied by more laughter and glee than tears and toil.

Birds flapped their wings in the blue sky and sang their melodic calls to one another, enjoying the day just as much. John had spent his evenings and some of his free time in the early spring fashioning two bird boxes out of scraps of wood that had gone unused up at the Abbey, and they had provided shelter amongst the trees and the conditions that had been harsher until recently. His own burgeoning hobby had provided her with one as well, and she delighted in watching them come and go, happy that their little garden could provide such a pleasing home – if it was only temporarily. She did notice that there were a few birds that returned regularly, and her heart filled with pride to notice them, as much as she also got excited when she spotted new ones with unusual and beautiful markings or curious, exquisite songs.

She was taking it easier this time around. It was rather the wrong way round, she admitted to herself; she felt much stronger, more assured, less alarmed at the slightest ache or pang. The ligament pain was familiar to her from before and she kept a couple of towels almost permanently soaked in hot water, spending the days when it was a particular strain with her feet up, reading a book. Of course her mind was still prone to wandering and sometimes – though far more rarely – stumbling upon the worst. A few chants of  _bad harvest_  to herself, and some uttered aloud for good measure, and things were put to rest. She had the birds to watch, did some baking here and there, made sure that the cottage was still kept in the condition she was accustomed to with her own exacting standards. She was never short of tasks to occupy her.

And there was William, and the way he was growing before her very eyes, from a seed so carefully nurtured and protected to a sunflower that thrived on the fine days but loved the rain just as much. She had to use all of her might to keep him inside when the weather took a turn for the worse, ushering him away from toddling towards the door, looking up at her with wide eyes the colour of far brighter skies. He would have stayed out in the garden all day if he was allowed, probably curling up against the flowerbeds to sleep as the moon watched over him. The pair of them often joked that when he was older and started to get curious as to where he came from they would give him the explanation that they stumbled across him in a walk through the fields, nestling within a cabbage patch.

Sometimes it needed to rain,  _the plants wanted a good drink_ , she would explain to him when he gazed at her hopefully, unable to form the questions that were filling his mind just yet.  _The sun will come out again, don't you worry. It'll be waiting for you when it does._ She braced her hands around his pudgy sides, smiling brightly at her darling boy where they were both happily dry, watching curiously as the droplets trickled their way down the window.  _'Where's William?' he will say. 'He always likes to see me, he always loves to play.'_

The little refrain rung in her head as she sat watching, though the sun was definitely at his best today. Will had begun to take his first steps in hardly any time after he had started speaking, and though her heart was always close to seizing up when his little legs went shakily, she was amazed at the bursts of pride that were stronger within her every time he hopped or leaped, testing himself yet further. Running was his favourite thing at this very moment in time; he whirled back and forth and in circles across the patches of grass, giggling in delight at the movement of his own feet beneath him.

"Mumma," he shouted, his exertions leaving him not out of breath in the slightest, his arms stretching out in the air and pointing towards where she sat in the chair that had been retrieved from the kitchen. "Mumma, run!"

Anna couldn't stop herself from laughing at his innocence or otherwise his honest belief in her ability to do anything that was possible in the world, even when she had a bump so large that it required an effort of some enormity for her to crane forward enough to be able to glimpse her feet.

"I'm afraid I can't, sweet-pea." Her hands stretched and rubbed over her stomach, doing the rest of the explaining for her. "Mumma can watch you, though. You're going faster than the wind."

He looked deeply disappointed, his bottom lip jutting forward and his eyes pleading. A look that tugged at her heart strings, if there was ever one designed to do precisely that. But in the next minute he was back to it, charging the length of the garden, rearing up to where the grass ended and the flowerbed began, leaning forward curiously at the silken petals of different colours and the softly humming bees who were going about their important duties. His little back was still, his head bent in what she could tell was a quiet fascination which held as much respect as it did a myriad of questioning. And then he turned, a wide smile forming on his rosy-pink mouth, his arms curving from his sides as he readied himself to bound back again.

Sometimes she found herself thinking; it would have been wrong to prevent herself from doing so, and she never wished to forget, as raw as it still was. She watched him run and heard him laugh, her dearest baby boy, and couldn't stop herself from bringing them to mind - though they were never far away. The children that had been lost, the dreams that never had the chance to take hold in full bloom. What kind of personalities and traits they would have had, which one of them they would resemble more. Some nights she would see them in her dreams, watching them just as closely as she was watching William now. She felt sorrow but was not overwhelmed with it, as she had expected to be the first time she had awoken from such a vision. Instead she was possessed by peace most of all. Perhaps they were her very own guardian angels, keeping a watch over them, blessing them with the joy they had always meant to give.

There was William, who wasn't aware of all the happiness he gave simply by running about, discovering the world a little bit further each day. There was the new baby, curled up comfortably within her and giving just the same amount of joy. Both of them rivalled the sunshine that streamed from the sky, casting her shadow and by nature that of the unborn child down onto the grass as she took gentle and slow steps forth.

"I can't run, not for a little while," she announced, smiling towards Will as he stopped in his tracks, glancing towards her. She inched closer towards him, arms held out poised and fingers flexed. "But I can...do... _this_!"

Their laughter matched one another's, Anna's fingers dancing along as they issued tickles to her little boy. He was giggling himself silly as she continued, and for as long as she lived she was quite certain that she would never be aware of a more beautiful sound.

She was able to lift him a little aloft, holding him tightly beneath his arms. His eager legs swung against the air while she transported him over to the chair; there was still enough room for him to sit on her lap, if she shifted a certain way. It would do him well to have a little rest, he'd feel renewed to go even faster in a little while.

His hands placed themselves automatically against the swell of her stomach, rubbing gently and curiously, and Anna beamed at her son's actions. He looked up at her and she could make out every single freckle that were dotted underneath his eyes, more noticeable than they were most of the year given the fineness of the season.

"It won't be too long at all," she told him softly, though she recognised that their respective concepts of time were still quite different indeed. He likely expected that the summer would last the equivalent of years, when the baby would arrive as it was rounded off. "It's going to be very exciting."

He nodded quite seriously, looking ever so much like John when he wore such an expression. His hair was getting a little too long, so that he had to shake his head often to keep it out of his eyes. There would be call for a trim quite soon. The sailor suit that he wore, a gift passed down from Lady Mary before she had known she was having another son, still fit quite well but Anna knew that it probably wouldn't do when next summer came around.

"And you'll be such a wonderful big brother. The very best."

They had been referring to him as a  _big brother_  for a little while, though they didn't want to go out of their way to make anything feel different. Honestly, the fact of it was probably more exciting to her and John than it was to William. Letting Will know about the baby had been the happiest prospect for the both of them, even though he was still a little too young to know what it really meant – at least until the baby had arrived and made its presence very well known. But they were a family, and sharing in the joy of a new member was the most special when shared between them all, first and foremost. Other people found out gradually, and in most cases entirely naturally. Now that she no longer worked at the Abbey it was less common for her to see her former colleagues and associates, unless she was out with William in the village or needed to bring something necessary up to John while he was there during the day. It wasn't out of any superstition that they kept it mainly to themselves, and they were more than content to revisit their own elation when their friends expressed what wonderful news it was and how very happy they were to know that their number would be expanding.

Anna found herself growing serious, covering Will's small hands that rested upon her tummy with her own, curving her fingers around his thumbs.

"You must remember; however much we love the new baby, Daddy and I love you just the same."

That was something that was never in doubt to her, but she wanted to take every opportunity to let her boy know just how cherished he was.

William stared up at her with those wide, wonderful eyes that always sought to see so much.

She placed one arm around his back, hugging him closer to her body, not caring that she could feel herself flushing with a surge of heat.

"You will always be our first baby, and we love you so very much." She smiled, brushing his fringe out of his eye-line with gentle fingers. "We love you more than you can ever know."

He smiled wide in return, and Anna felt that she had said quite enough – hopefully for the rest of time, although she was aware that the odd few reassurances would probably be needed, some years down the line.

She felt William jump slightly, his hands moving from their place upon her stomach and a surprised expression upon his little face. The sensation was so commonplace to her by now – indeed in the last few weeks the baby had been wriggling and kicking so much that she had hardly had any rest – that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. But William had not encountered it as yet, and the curiosity in his look made her smile giddily.

"The baby's saying hello to you, sweet-pea," she informed him, guiding his palms back to her bump, not quite in the spot where the baby kicked most fiercely. "See, it's excited about meeting you already."

She focused intently on the fluttering within her, smiling to see that William was doing the same, pressing a little firmer with his hands but still being just as careful as always.

"Hello, baby," he exclaimed, wriggling himself and angling his mouth to his mother's stomach, feeling the kicks come quicker.

Anna glanced from her son's fair head up to the cloudless sky for a moment, letting her tears of happiness ebb away of their own accord. She was soon laughing again as he pressed his ear to her, trying to listen as well as feel the movements of his little brother or sister. One hand rested on the top of the large swell while her other threaded itself into William's soft sandy-coloured hair, warm to the touch.

They spent some time listening to the songs of the birds as they flitted in and out, and then William made his way with a little assistance onto the ground again, chasing butterflies and hopeful that he would be able to catch one this time. Anna felt the flapping of wings inside of her and couldn't help the cause all that much, but she did manage to turn in slow circles, the slight breeze dancing around her, her eyes watching tiny white flutterings and little hands reaching upwards.

She kept an observant gaze on William, hoping that he wouldn't get too dizzy from spinning so much, though that didn't seem to be a problem. It was John's gentle laughter that she discovered first, watching them both from where the small yard flowed into the grass. She righted her feet on the ground, her hands placed on William's shoulders.

"I should have known that I'd find you out here."

"Where else would we be on such a lovely day?"

John smiled, not getting very far forward before William became fully aware of his presence and launched himself at his father. He didn't need to be told to go easy, but his enthusiasm for another evening return shone through.

"Is it six o'clock already?" Anna asked, John nodding his response. "You lose all track of time when you're outside." She looked to Will, who was hugging onto his father's legs. "Here we've been, chasing butterflies when we should have been thinking about dinner."

"You know very well that I'll take care of that," John replied.

The routine had been the same for a couple of months now, despite her arguing that she was entirely capable and that it seemed very unfair after he'd been at work for so many hours, though some less than before. She didn't complain about having a husband who was so attentive and so eager to pamper her. She had quite the job too, he was keen to remind her; one that hardly allowed for breaks or relief.

She smiled fondly as he rolled up his sleeves to over his elbows, ready to make a start.

"I did put an apple crumble in the oven." Those apples had been piling up ever since the spring, and she was starting to be tired of the sight of them, though John always enjoyed the taste. The grin on his face spoke loud of his joy at the treat. "Not the best idea I've had when it's been as warm as it has. The bottom has probably burnt out of it by now."

He laughed again, lifting William upwards and letting his cane fall into the grass.

"We'll still make sure every last crumb is eaten," he affirmed, "won't we, Will?"

"Yes!"

Anna shook her head in amusement, knowing that their son would agree with anything his father said and that both of them would do anything to please her.

They left the door into the garden open as dinner was cooked and served, Anna especially glad for the breath of air, her feet bare upon the kitchen tiles. The smell of the garden vegetables and chicken had her mouth watering and John served her a sizeable portion – which at this stage she didn't refuse, and looked sweetly towards him as she wondered aloud if there were any seconds to be had. Thankfully the apple crumble turned out to be golden brown as opposed to irretrievably charred, and anyway, the cream doused away any knowledge to the contrary.

John led in the conversation – she didn't have all that much to contribute, aside from passing on Mrs Tripp's latest gossip from the village. He smiled as he divulged the news of the day from the Abbey. Lady Edith – or the Marchioness of Hexham, to give her the proper title – was with child, and everyone was delighted. Even Lady Mary had expressed her happiness, in her own peculiar way (according to his Lordship, her initial response had been " _well, it's about time_.  _Edward is almost walking, I thought she would be quicker off the mark.")._ Anna shared the sentiments second-hand, feeling her own excitement grow. Her mother always used to say that things came in threes. Daisy was still a bit too young and not yet married. John brought up Mrs Patmore – which was absurd, of course, but went on to reason that she was the owner of a house of ill-repute, after all. At the mere mention Anna erupted into giggles, which set off John in turn. William was keen to join in with his parents and even the baby was included, tumbling about in time with Anna's helpless laughter.

The lighter nights brought an energy which the darker ones lacked. Anna sat knitting for a while once she had settled William to bed, the urge to do so still strong within her. If it was right that a cold winter followed a pleasant summer then their new child certainly would be well-stocked once the season arrived. Tomorrow she thought that she would start on some new woollens and a scarf for William; it was never too early.

The door was still open as she went into the kitchen to fetch another glass of water, and she smiled as her husband's figure came into view. Merely looking from the window would not do for her.

The shirt of his uniform was gone; his braces were pulled down from the shoulders of his undershirt, leaving the curve of his spine visible underneath as he leaned in concentration. A new flush rose up into Anna's head, her last few steps unsteady as she found herself entranced and fascinated by John and how very attractive he looked. He was always handsome, dressed in his smartest attire or in those nearing thread-bare pyjamas that he was insistent not to dispose of. But there was something particular about his appearance on nights such as this; he fitted the landscape perfectly, almost as if he had been painted in with the most skilful hand. His hair was looser, hanging over his forehead, and the dusting of hair upon his bared forearms made her quite flustered indeed.

He turned at the waist, a little surprised but also pleased to find her hands resting upon him, one upon his back and the other at his middle.

"You should have your feet up," he uttered, his voice more amused than it was scolding. He turned fully to her, making her shift the position of her hands. His undershirt was slightly damp to the touch, more than it should have been if he was simply standing amidst the fine evening.

"I've been off them for nearly all of the day," she retorted. "Besides, I was admiring my wonderful, strong, handsome husband. And I find I can do that far better when I get up close. Even better when I can touch."

He chuckled, covering her hand with one of his own upon his chest.

"I thought that I might make a swing for William. The tree's sturdy enough that it would hold it." He leaned back a little, as if to prove the tree's worth. "There's enough wood that I could fashion a seat, it'd be quite safe. And it might look rather good painted red."

Anna beamed up at him, his voice so rapt in wonder.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," she replied, unable to take the smile from her face. "You've become quite the handyman. Here's me thinking I'd married a quiet, bookish man, and all along you've been hiding your primal side."

He scoffed. "I'd hardly call it that."

Unfailingly modest, but he couldn't hide the way that his eyes sparked, glowing a honeyed amber in the slowly falling light. His eyes were quite possibly her favourite feature of his, so full of soul and life and endless love that stole her breath away.

"I like making our house a home. Doing things I'd almost never made myself dare to dream of."

His hand made a slow path to the swell of her stomach, resting flat. She stayed staring into those eyes, and felt herself glow with pride when she glimpsed tears starting to form in them. No matter how many times he experienced the baby's kicks through placing his hand upon them, he always reacted as if it was his very first knowledge.

They shared in the special moment, the baby quite awake and listening out for the nightcalls of the birds nestling above.

"I know we won't be here forever," he continued as they exchanged another glance of understanding. "But while we are, I want it to be special. It's our children's first home, and I want them to remember it as a place they loved. A place full of memories."

So many memories, each one bringing a smile to her heart. From carrying William out here when he was a bundle in arms on the first truly fine day they'd had since he was born, to just a few weeks ago when he felt particularly mischievous and saw fit to run off with John's cane clutched in his hand whilst John was preoccupied, giggling loudly while the pair of them were left stranded and finding it just as hilarious.

The blooms of the iris were striking in their beauty, looking at their peak. Things went in circles.

"Our memories will be with us wherever we go," she uttered, catching his gaze with her own, fitting her fingers in the spaces between his, "but I am glad we've made them here."

John brought their entwined hands back to rest on Anna's bump, and they both smiled to think of another child making themselves gleefully happy here; crawling, running, picking flowers, swinging high enough to touch the sky.

"Just promise me you won't be out here all night," she said, thinking again of William and how he would spend all hours out of doors if possible. "You can still catch a chill at this time of year."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," he answered, letting his hand wander tenderly across her stomach. "I still have to admire my beautiful, spirited, utterly amazing wife as she gets changed for the night."

She smirked at the glint in his eyes, holding his hand as they started the slow pad back inside.

"I suspect you might have to help her with that. She's not finding it as easy as she used to."

"It would be my pleasure," he offered her a smile. "There's nobody else I'd rather assist."

She smiled back up at him, set against the pink and lilac sky. "Don't let his Lordship hear you say that."


	12. August 1927

She had risen with the song of the lark and even at that almost unbearably early hour it had been as warm as if it were noon. A sign that she remembered from summers that had no end out in the fields where the barley was so tall that she could well have shrouded herself within it. It was going to be another long, scorching-hot day. She retreated to the front room, still covered in shade without the curtains drawn, and managed to read for a while before William was up, gulping back water which the baby didn't much enjoy, wriggling its tiny limbs within her. It was not long past eight and she was already exhausted.

Today was not the day for a social occasion. She wished to ascend the stairs at her own leisurely pace and climb back into bed to while away the hours, but the logical part of her brain knew that she wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of minutes, tossing and turning.

Her pace throughout the morning continued to be sluggish. The simplest of tasks took her half-an-hour to perform. She would certainly be awful as a maid now, days or even weeks worth of work stacking up over her. William was patient and content, not minding a bit while his mama moved in slow-motion, toddling towards her on feet that still could be slightly unsteady to help things along in the best way he could. Anna thanked her stars that she had such a docile little boy, especially on days such as this. Of course, he had his da to amuse him too, and the pair of them were her saviours, now more than ever.

Leaving them as thick as thieves she went to change, some hours after she had got up, finding the one suitable dress that was smart enough to cater for the afternoon and cool enough to ensure that she didn't feel horribly constricted. She had been meaning to make at least another but the store with all of the best fabric was in Ripon and it seemed as far away as America in her current state. Once she had put up her hair into a low twist, she sat down at the kitchen table, placing her bare feet onto the cool tiles that heated up beneath her soles far too quickly. The baby was restless, preferring it if she kept active. Yet if she did so much as walk up and down the length of the kitchen a few times she would have had to bathe again, and then she'd have nothing but her nightgown to wear. What a sight that would have been.

William came dancing over the floor, holding her strapped shoes in his small hands.

"Ready, mumma!"

She smiled gratefully and just a touch tearfully at her darling boy, taking one of the shoes from his grasp and resting it against her thigh.  _Not on the table, that would be bad luck_. It was too far along to hold with such superstition, but all the same she kept her other hand protectively over her incredible bump.

He toddled off just as quickly as he had came, leaving John to take the place of his retreated shadow, the partner shoe in his much larger palm.

"Learning from the best," she said, shifting her legs about.

Anna noted the small frown creasing her husband's brow, taking her joking remark with a degree of seriousness that she hadn't intended. Of course he wasn't ashamed of his career, though it hadn't been a conscious choice. With the way things were going there wouldn't be much call for valets by the time Will was of the right age, probably only for the most noble of royalty. Still their son idolised his father, wanting to do everything just as he did. John had pointed out that he adopted the funny habit of letting his right leg linger a few seconds behind his left when he tottered about. She had thought he was having her on, trying to prove he was right and she was wrong in a rare moment of tenacity about the point, but she noticed it for herself when she was watching Will play in the garden one sunny afternoon out of many and had to giggle at the endearing sight. It was likely learnt as simply as he was also picking up words at the rate of knots, and as he became more confident and unthinking of his steps he was already growing out of it.

As though recognising that she was scrutinising him from her chair he quickly brightened, his eyes softening the entirety of his face.

"You know that I am always happy to be your maid, m'lady," he remarked with a grin, "off the clock as well as when I should by rights be occupied elsewhere."

She saw him bending in front of her; before she could raise her voice to protest his good knee had met the floor, his other elevated in a position that proved comfortable. He closed a hand round one ankle, rubbing round the bone with the pad of his thumb and sweeping round to her heel, soothing the cracked skin. Her toes protested slightly at being squeezed into the shoes and she already anticipated the particular ache that would reside at her soles before they had even made it to their destination.

She winced a little at the tightness of the straps, though he had taken care to fix them on the loosest fitting.

"We should be heading off soon," he announced, polishing his pocket watch once he was back on his feet, giving her an empathetic smile. "A cup of tea and then we'll go. I'll round up Will first."

The look on her face was what always gave her away, even when she tried her hardest not to let it show. He stayed held to the spot, seeming content that William was going along fine at whatever he was doing.

Though she was simply at the mercy of her body and her moods, not much helped by the fact that she hadn't got a full night's sleep in what felt like months, the guilt at feeling such a way gnawed at her. She had no right to even think of complaining, not after all they'd been through, the long road that had been traversed until they reached the first happy and welcoming haven along the way. In the next moment she realised that she needed to be kinder to herself, the same as she treated others when they were grappling with such heavy odds. For a start, it had not been the height of the hottest summer for some years the last time she had been nearing eight months pregnant. She found herself longing for drizzle and cloud, if not the full force of winter.

Her shoulders slumped. "Do you think anyone would notice if we didn't turn up? We could go out to the fields, let him run riot."

John smirked, feigning shock at the suggestion.

"Anna May Bates, are you saying that you would be so impolite as to not refuse the Crawleys' invitation, but ignore it entirely?"

Even after such a time out of their employment, she was compelled not to make a promise of what she had said.

"No," she shook her head lightly to reaffirm her true meaning, glancing up at her husband like a scolded child. "I just wish that I was in a better state to enjoy it."

The sigh escaped her without her even realising, holding both hands over the protrusion of her stomach. It was another foolish thing to think about but she couldn't help but feel like an awful frump. John showered her with kisses each morning and night without her even needing to seek reassurance and she felt the strength of his love without asking selfishly after it. He seemed to find her more attractive in her current condition, and just as she counted the blessing of a good-natured child she cherished the good fortune she had to be wed to such a wonderful man.

"We needn't stay very long." He was always so keen to placate her. "Show our faces for an hour or two, let Will get some attention. Anyone would understand you being tired, and if they don't then they're not worth wasting our time on."

She stifled a laugh to see that he was really quite serious at what he said. She was used to being the more social out of the two of them, the one to gee him along when he would rather stay at home with their small but growing family.

"Let's see how we go," she said, easing herself out of the chair with the help of his steady hand in hers.

William was eager to get going when they set off, though he was less keen to walk the distance himself.

"Da, up!" he exclaimed, hair gleaming in the midday sunlight. His hands had raised above his head in anticipation. "Pwease."

John hesitated for all of a few seconds before he hooked his cane in the crook of his arm.

"Not all of the way," he warned. He did need to work on his stern tone when it came to their son. "Five minutes."

Will nodded his head in reply, seeming to count the steps as they went.

Anna ambled along at their side, handbag dangling from one of her wrists. John mapped out their path, and to her relief he had taken the way that cut across one of the fields, shaving some minutes from their journey. It still seemed to take a long time for them to make it up to the Abbey, the final stretch leading up to the grand house feeling particularly arduous. There was not the slightest of breezes in the air, the day proving to be still and utterly stifling.

John had slowed his pace deliberately to accommodate his wife, even as their son skipped forward. Every few yards he came to a stop, looking behind at his mumma and da and waiting for them patiently to catch up, until he galloped off a few more steps. Anna's breath was getting short and she waddled her way like a duck up the gravelled path, the stones crunching beneath her feet.

She felt John's hand touch her gently, offering out his arm for the last leg of the journey. She smiled up at him, hearing Will's excited shouts of 'Down'un Appy' float back towards them.

The house always looked magnificent, its splendour set against the bright and unspoiled blue sky.

John had informed her that Lady Mary insisted that they go through the front entrance when they arrived that afternoon for the garden party. At first she refused to think about it, remembering the only other time she had been granted the honourable chance. Thankfully this was a much happier occasion, with her husband by her side and her son in his arms – Will had grew suddenly hesitant in the face of such grandeur, his little head craning back to take in its impressive scale.

Lady Mary was not to be seen but there were two other familiar figures waiting to greet them. A wide smile split across Mrs Hughes' face, her eyes lighting up as she saw William approaching. He ran into a little jog recognising the kind countenance of the housekeeper, who had crouched down slightly to welcome the toddler.

"Well, look who it is!" she exclaimed, smiling towards Anna and John as William hugged her about the legs. "My, you're almost as tall as your pa."

Will stood proud with his still-chubby fists held to his waist, and John ruffled his hair lightly.

"It's been too long since you've all been up here," Mrs Hughes continued, clearly displeased by the fact though her tone remained amiable. "We have to rectify that soon."

"Once this one decides to make an appearance," Anna answered, palm rubbing against her bump, "and Mr Bates sees fit to let me outside again."

John frowned faintly, soon settling when his wife smiled back at him.

"Oh, yes," Mrs Hughes looked on proudly, the glimmer of excitement at Anna's state shining in her eyes, "we're all so keen to meet the new bairn when he or she gets here. I bet you're over the moon about being a big brother, aren't you, my lad?"

William agreed happily, taking Mrs Hughes' hand as they wandered inside for a chat with the blessing coming from his parents, though it had hardly needed to be sought.

Thomas – it was still strange to think of him as  _Mr Barrow_  – stood with both hands clasped behind his back, borrowing a pose from Mr Carson and looking only slightly ill-at-ease stepping into the former butler's shadow.

"Mrs Bates," he uttered, "it's lovely to see you. You're looking well. 'Blooming' I suppose is the technical term."

"Thank you, Mr Barrow," she replied, amused and a touch unnerved at the gesture.

Her eyes kept watch as Thomas's gaze flickered to John, the younger man's lips pursing.

"And Mr Bates." Thomas extended his hand, which seemed rather strange. "Feels like a change to see you here as well."

The younger man smirked, hiding any greater malice behind his eyes.

"I'm wondering whether we should pay you as quite as much as we do, seeing as you're only really working part-time these days."

John shook his head, not sure why he should be in any disbelief.

"Well, that's his Lordship's decision, and I can't fault his generosity," he replied, perceiving Thomas's staid expression moving ever so slightly. "As I must provide for a growing family, he's shown the utmost kindness in lessening my duties. And I don't believe that you have complained in taking on the role of valet in my absence. It was something you got a little too used to, or so I hear."

They moved forward wearing polite smiles, Anna's arm linking into John's once more.

"I thought that he was better with you now?" she murmured, leaning against him as they walked through the hall.

John tilted his head to the side. "Most of the time. But a leopard still retains some of its old spots." His mouth moved into a smirk. "And I quite enjoy sparring with him every now and then. Keeps me young."

"I don't know if it's that that's keeping you young," Anna replied cheekily, nudging at his elbow. "And I have to say that I like you just how you are."

He stopped their tracks, sneaking a kiss from her lips at the corner of the room.

"I rather hope that you do a bit more than  _like_  me, Mrs Bates."

The sun shone bright and seemed more bearable as they got out into the gardens at the rear of the house, where the party had been arranged. It was a little different from the gatherings the Crawleys – or perhaps more accurately their staff – had put together so painstakingly in the past. It was not a lavish affair for the whole of Yorkshire's high society but more understated, relaxed, and just for a select group of well-known people. As well as the gazebos and seating areas, a small fair had been set up for the benefit of the children. There were a few little rides and stalls, as well as a mini petting-zoo with a selection of animals brought over from the farm. Miss Sybbie in particular was very taken with feeding a lamb from a small bottle, Mr Branson watching on with a proud grin as the one of the farmhands kept the animal steady.

Everything looked very lovely, though it was somewhat different to most of the parties both of them had been present at in the past. This time around the remaining servants were free to mingle and enjoy the afternoon as guests, given that their number was small and apparently decreasing by the month.

They greeted their former colleagues one-by-one, Anna exceedingly pleased to receive a glass of cool lemonade from a gleeful Mrs Patmore.

"Anna!" Lady Mary's voice rung out and she made her way across the lawn, wearing a long and flowing dress patterned with purple flowers, her youngest son held in her arms.

She smiled to see her former mistress, awkwardly receiving a kiss on the cheek as her stomach got in the way somewhat.

"Oh, I'm so glad you could come. Bates was saying that he wasn't sure whether you would be up to it, but I did hope that you would stop by."

"Well, you know Mr Bates," Anna said, looking over to where John had been held up by an especially chatty Mr Molesley, "things wouldn't be right if he wasn't fussing."

"Indeed," Lady Mary smiled, hoisting young Edward up in her grasp and shielding his eyes from the sun. "It can't be very long now."

Anna shook her head, both hands bracing her bump. "Just over a month, m'lady."

She noticed the amused expression upon Lady Mary's face.

"You are allowed to call me 'Mary' now. It seems rather strange that you wouldn't."

"It would feel strange to me if I did."

Lady Mary smiled, not moving to argue any further.

"You look splendid. Far better than I did at that stage."

"Thank you, m'lady," Anna gracefully accepted the compliment, "though I'm sure you looked perfectly elegant."

Which was not how she felt at this moment in time, sweat already gathering along her spine and under her arms.

"You know, things go much easier with the second one." Lady Mary looked at her youngest child, who shared her colouring, smoothing the wispy hair upon his head whilst he gummed at a fist. "Your feet are so much more secure on the ground. It's not what I would call a piece of cake, but it does feel different all the same."

She glanced in the opposite direction for a second or two.

"Though, I don't think I could say that was the case for poor Mama with Edith. She was such a difficult, clingy child. Not that she's changed all that much."

"Well, William is as good as gold, most of the time," Anna answered, hoping to change the subject somewhat. "If this one follows his lead or happens to excel it then I shall be very lucky, indeed."

Lady Mary swivelled her head back towards her former maid, looking much more serene.

"Quite," she smiled.

Tom Branson wandered over to join them, with Sybbie, George and Marigold in tow, and John also managed to break away from Mr Molesley, holding William's hand as he toddled along.

"I was thinking that I might take the children over to the farm, properly," Tom announced. "Sybbie says that she wants to meet the little lamb's brothers and sisters and all his family, and it would give you all a break for a little while."

He smiled towards Anna, offering her reassurance that he could be relied upon to take on Will as well as the others.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" John asked the younger man. "I have to admit, I feel like a bit of a spare part if I'm not working while I'm here."

"Sure you can," Tom nodded with a smile. "It might save my sanity to have the company of another adult."

Anna and Lady Mary watched while the men and children wandered off, and little Edward whimpered, aware of something that he was missing out on but not quite old enough to understand what it was. Before they were small enough to be specks on the landscape William turned back, halting John as he did so, and waved towards where his mama was standing. Anna blew her son a kiss that travelled on the breezeless air, her heart contracting with love. The baby flipped about inside of her and while the lurching movement was always rather unsettling, at this moment she could ask for no greater comfort.

She exhaled a small sigh, wearing a dignified smile as Lady Grantham and Lady Edith came over to join them, Lady Edith moving slower than she normally would. Her stomach was rounded in the unmistakable manner, though in comparison she was hardly noticeable.

"Your Ladyship," Anna bowed her head, not quite curtseying. "Lady Hexham."

Edith gave a funny sort of laugh, which made Mary cast daggers toward her.

"Please, it's Edith amongst friends."

Whilst Lady Mary took great offence on her behalf, Anna did not. She knew that nothing was meant in it; it had just been Lady Edith's nature, sounding slightly off-kilter and not quite fitting her situation. There was little denying that she had come a long way since her days as an uncertain young woman, trapped in the shadows of her sisters who were considered more favourable for their different reasons. She appeared much more at ease in her own skin now, flourishing away from the glare of attention of Downton, but their respective condition was prone to causing a great deal of delicacy in a woman.

"You must sit down, Anna," Lady Grantham interjected, a well-meaning look in her eyes. "There are more than enough seats, and we don't bother with reservations any longer. God knows we don't have so many of those kind of guests anymore to take them up."

She smiled politely, feeling somewhat awkward for the family's decline – though it was not apparently unusual, and indeed they were still in a more preferable position than many of their peers, given what news John had fed back to her.

"I'm quite well, but I must thank you, your Ladyship."

"Go in the shade, at least? Goodness, I remember being nearly at full-term with Lady Edith, and it was unbearably hot. I felt as though I was losing my mind."

Anna braced her hands over the swell. "I think this one rather likes the sun. They get a little tetchy when I'm out of it."

Lady Edith mirrored her actions, perhaps subconsciously, smoothing the coral silk of her dress tight to her form. "You'll have to give me some advice on how to cope, Anna."

She was fairly certain that the truth about Miss Marigold was no longer a secret, but being out of the immediate loop of the household made her yet more conscious of pretending she had not the slightest clue of the family's private affairs. Her Ladyship was wearing a rather pained smile, while Lady Mary could barely disguise her deep lack of interest, keeping watch over her baby son as he crawled on the ground, snatching at fistfuls of grass.

"If you think it's necessary, m'lady," she responded, hoping her answer didn't sound impertinent or too revealing. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

The conversation carried on at an easier pace, thankfully, with the women exchanging familiar stories – Anna inordinately happy that she was able to contribute, without feeling as though she may run the risk of jinxing herself. Lady Edith took most of the spotlight, and Anna thought that she must have felt rather relieved to be out in the open too. Despite Anna being content to let the younger woman shine, Lady Mary was keen to intervene at several points, asking more after her former maid than of her own flesh and blood. Her behaviour surprised none of them, somewhat sadly.

Anna began to get rather restless, not wanting to spoil the fun but missing the other parts of her, off away having a fine time at the farm. They must have heard her private complaints, as within a few minutes the merry band of explorers, including William and John, came trundling back.

Will bounded towards her at a pace that had her half-terrified in case he should fall flat upon his face, but he stayed upright. She saw that his tiny fists were full and she beamed a natural smile, all of her aches and pains and exasperation receding into the distance.

"Mumma, mumma!" he squealed happily.

She could no longer bend even the slightest bit to receive him, so John held him up level to her height.

"Hello again, sweet pea. Did you have fun at the farm?"

Will nodded eagerly, John smiling between the both of them.

"We did, indeed," the elder Bates man affirmed. "Tell Mummy what you saw, Will."

His little face lit up as he reeled off a list of animals he had encountered. "Piggies! And  _seeps_ , and ducks..."

Anna could have burst with joy, rubbing her fingers against her son's sun-blushed cheek. "And what noise do the ducks make?"

"Quack, QUACK!" He shouted so loudly that they attracted a fair few stares, all of them thankfully fond.

"Yes, that's right," she replied, dropping a kiss onto his head and eyeing John carefully. They'd have quite the time settling him down to sleep this evening with all the excitement he had experienced. "You'll have to say 'thank you' to Mr Branson for bringing you both along."

"Already taken care of," John answered with a grin.

She could no longer pretend to be unaware of the bounty in Will's grasp, smiling brightly as he held the wildflowers aloft.

"Mumma," he uttered again in his adorable tone, "for you."

John looked as pleased as punch as he helped their son hand them over. "He insisted on you having a souvenir."

"Thank you, my darling," she exclaimed, raising the bluebell to her nose. "Next time I will go and see the piggies and sheep and ducks with you, I promise."

They enjoyed a few moments of quiet family time, able to slip into the feeling with ease. The other children, particularly Sybbie and George, were enthused by being reacquainted with their playmate and ran about Anna and John in circles.

"Why don't you two go off and make the most of this beautiful day for a bit," the friendly voice of Tom Branson returned, softly encroaching. "I'll keep guard and make sure they don't get him into trouble."

John placed Will down onto the soft grass, smiling as Miss Sybbie took up their son's hand almost immediately. He sought Anna's hand with his own.

"Shall we go for a little walk?"

"As slow as these feet will carry me," she replied, entwining her fingers with his larger ones.

She felt a tingling run through her as John brought their joined hands to his mouth, brushing his lips against the curve of her thumb.

It struck her that she hadn't ever walked around the estate with John; she hardly had much chance to do so at all while she had been employed at the house, and it made for a novel change. They were conscious not to go too far, due to both her tiring easily and not wanting to leave Will for too long, even though he was being well looked after.

They stopped at a particular spot, the soft rushing of the water coming from a lower level soothing to her ears.

"It's cooler out here," John uttered gently, his hand steady upon her almost-disappeared waist, "even if the lake isn't that big, you can tell the difference."

Anna nodded her agreement, her eyes fluttering shut for a few moments. If the water had been closer to get to without the barrier of the bank, and if she wouldn't have made such an ungraceful picture in doing so, she would have sat herself down and kicked off her shoes so that she could dip her feet in. Instead she leant against her husband's sturdy, strong figure, feeling him tense only very slightly as the small waves lapped against one another.

She remembered when he told her about the so-called 'limp corrector', a couple of months after they began their married life in earnest. Looking back she had known there was something to do at the time. She struggled to comprehend why he should try such a device when it ultimately would bring nothing but pain, and especially when she liked him – more than liked him – perfectly well exactly the way he was. He had smiled a half-infuriating but ultimately irresistible smile over from his armchair to her spot on the settee, and argued that she would say that now they were married and had such an arduous courtship behind them. She moved to argue back, but accepted – however wrongly on his part – that he had his own share of insecurities and uncertainties, thinking himself less attractive but, significantly, far less able to prove her equal if not her protector.

Unforeseen, she had come to better understand his feelings, even if she had been so wretched to think that there was no superficial thing she could own that would 'fix' her. If only it had been that simple.

There was no price, or indeed worth, that could be placed on the power of undying love.

"It's funny," she murmured, happy to feel the warmth sitting within his chest and the thud of his heart lying at the back of her neck, "we come back here together, and it's like going back some years."

So little had seemed to have changed in the occupants of the house, even if the climate around them had done so quite significantly.

He hummed low in his throat, his palm coming to cover and instinctively shield her stomach. It wasn't the whisper of a more noticeable wind that she felt kiss her.

"We should leave soon then," he said into her ear, "as I rather like where we are at the present."

She smiled, what felt like to herself given that he was unable to see it, bringing her hand up to rub at his forearm and enjoying the cooler air resting upon her face.

"Not before you win me something on the fair," she replied with a flourish. "Mr Molesley can't be seen to take all the credit."

Another smile crossed her lips as she recalled lying in bed, confessing poor Molesley's unrequited crush of times previous. It tickled her to this day that a copy of  _Elizabeth and Her German Garden_ sat on a shelf in the cottage, having been purchased by John not long after she had divulged that particular proposition, but as far as she was aware it had remained untouched.

When they arrived back at the party, arm in arm and walking at a steady pace, they were somewhat surprised to find Mr Barrow without his jacket and his waistcoat only half-buttoned, his cheeks coloured as he galloped about, Miss Marigold hoisted on his back and cheering her delight. The other children, including William, laughed and followed the 'horse' as he made his way over the grass, rearing up after a good couple of minutes.

"The esteemed Mr Barrow," John scoffed, "whoever would have thought. He does have a heart after all."

Anna looked on fondly, clutching onto her husband's arm, and thinking on the butler's own troubles, which he had done well to keep so hidden.

"If only he would show it openly more often."

Settling a happy Miss Marigold back onto the ground, Thomas looked about for the next jockey in line. Miss Sybbie and Master George ran eagerly towards him, scrambling for the butler's attention. He smiled down at them, but looked instead to the child that had turned suddenly shy. Stepping forward, he offered his hand out.

"Come on, young Bates," he said, feigning ambivalence in his gaze but flashing a smile that seemed rare in its warmth to little Will, crouching down to his height and keeping his voice low in confidence, "we can't let Master Crawley get away with being a greedy guts, can we?"

Anna and John watched on, half in astonishment, as their son climbed upon the back of a former foe, smiling and giggling as Thomas went well, geeing up at the right moments and even allowing Will a longer turn than the Crawley children had had.

It seemed a great many things could change, and for the better.


	13. September 1927

John never tired of the simple pleasure of lying in bed with his wife. Many times he had longed for the night to contain more hours than it did, so he would be able to revel in the sensation for the adequate time that it deserved. For someone prone to insomnia, such a wish was quite a curious one. He still felt that they were owed hours, for the periods whereby unfair circumstance had kept them apart and made their nights long and solitary.

After much shifting to and fro, Anna had found a position that was comfortable. She rested her cheek against his chest, with the greater part of her body turned away from his own, though his arm lay at an angle that allowed him to place his palm on top of her stomach. He would miss this in a couple of weeks time, though then there would be a different type of connection to cherish. A babe in their arms.

His wife's answer to the same question would be considerably different. He felt a great weight of responsibility for the frustration and discomfort she felt at the sharp end of her pregnancy, and would have done anything humanly possible to remove the troubles she experienced. He also knew that after everything, she would never give voice to them for any prolonged amount of time.

She huffed as they both read silently, discarding her book at the bedside.

"Causing you trouble?" he uttered softly, bringing his hands to her lower back as she sat forward for a few moments.

"No," she replied, cupping underneath the swell of her bump.

John could hear in the tenderness of her tone the love she had for their unborn child, the same as she had for William and himself; she couldn't bear to think of them being a nuisance in any way.

"I'm surprised you can still lie here with us taking up all of the space. I know the settee isn't ideal but you'd surely get a better night's sleep."

He chuckled, dropping his mouth to her shoulder briefly as she settled back onto him.

"I don't mind one bit. You two can take up all the space that you need."

His hand resumed its previous occupancy, rubbing gently over Anna's stomach. Watching the way that her body changed in the past few months had seemed like a miracle to him, made all the more fascinating given that she wasn't cloaked in black for most of the time this time around. Every glimpse he took in was enchanting, stealing his breath in absolute wonder.

When each night passed he was certain that he could never love her more, until the next morning came and he was proved soundly wrong.

He picked up the book again with his free hand, musing upon the words writ on the page before his half-drowsy eyes.

 _Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted_  
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain  
Cry, "Speak once more – thou lovest!" Who can fear  
Too many stars, though each shall crown the year?  
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me – toll  
The silver iterance! – only minding, Dear,  
To love me also in silence with thy soul.

Anna's hand had joined his own upon her body, her fingers sliding in the spaces between his; their child kept protected beneath the makeshift shield they had unthinkingly created.

"We should have had a telephone installed," he uttered; quite a departure from the deep and poetic notions Barrett Browning's phrases had evoked in him yet minutes previous.

Anna sniggered. "The traditionalist takes me by surprise."

"I wouldn't say I was that," he replied, somewhat taken aback. "Don't you think it's rather strange that the Carsons should have one when we don't? Mr Carson never lost his suspicion about the one at the Abbey. I think he imagined that foreign spies were listening in at the other end."

"The poor man. He preferred to have conversations face to face, nothing wrong with that."

"I'll say something to his Lordship. I don't think it will come across impudent. Not when the Tripps have had one for at least a year."

"They're the exception to the rule. You don't need to have come into contact with Mrs Tripp to know that she isn't a woman who takes gladly to being refused something she's after."

John laughed faintly; having come across Mrs Tripp and her whimsical moods on quite a few occasions – and having to smile politely as she accompanied his evening trips to collect firewood, complaining of something or other all the while - he could only imagine what his Lordship would have made of her.

"It would only be practical," he continued back to his original point, "if cutting it somewhat fine for our current predicament."

He found himself caught between two poles, knowing full well what he would have preferred, especially as Anna's due date came ever closer. Since the garden party he had been bothered by Thomas's insinuation that he wasn't pulling his weight, even when he knew the opposite to be true. September also brought the Crawleys' annual excursion away from Downton. Though their number was less these days and he had been excused from travelling with the party, on account of Anna being so heavily pregnant, preparations were still to be made. He was off to Thirsk one day, York the next; he was half-surprised that he hadn't been sent to London to track down a pair of braces or a particular style of shirt. Every moment that he spent out of reachable distance to be consulted about any changes in Anna's condition made him anxious to run along at a greater speed in order to return to his wife's side.

"Mr Chirk does have those pigeons that nestle in his yard. If things were desperate, I could send one of those over."

She could barely stifle her giggling, and at least it was a wonderful sound to hear, even if it did little to ease his worries.

"I think we'll have luck on our side with this one," Anna went on, having recovered herself, pulling their joined hands a little lower on her stomach. "Heaven knows that we're still owed quite a bit of it."

He smiled as Anna guided their hands in slow circles, catching the movement of a foot or the jut of an elbow in moments most wondrous.

"I wouldn't wish to burden her, but I suspect that she is our lucky charm."

Anna shifted her head to the crook of his shoulder to steal a glance up at him. He had resisted the temptation for some time, but now he found it impossible to give the child the name his heart truly believed it would be. His beloved had been right first time around, and he eagerly awaited knowing for certain whether he would take the pride on this occasion. It hardly mattered though; not when the promise of another healthy addition to their family filled his heart with a joy he found impossible to describe.

"I don't reckon it will be tomorrow at any rate," she murmured, words breathed against his form, "so if his Lordship decides on any more errands you can go on quite happily."

He let out a sigh, letting her know that it wasn't quite the way he would term it.

"They're away in less than a week. We can only hope that will be the end of it." He lowered his head as much as he was able with Anna held against him. "And that you may make your arrival in that window,  _mo ghra beag._ "

Anna snuffled as he kissed her, keen to show just as much affection to his wife as to the child that they awaited.

"If she's going to be a daddy's girl, then I'm sure she will take it on board, Mr Bates."

He smiled fondly again, only before imagining what it would be like to have a daughter to follow him around, climb into his lap and idolise him completely. He adored his boy and felt that William would only grow kinder and more thoughtful in having a small sister to help tutor and shower affection to. And then there was the thought of Anna with her own miniature, the love he had for her so marvellously multiplied.

After offering another kiss to his darling wife he picked up the book once more, leafing back through the pages and reciting the words aloud from one in particular as Anna breathed steadily.

" _Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed_  
And worth of acceptation. Fire is bright,  
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light  
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:  
And love is fire. And when I say at need  
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee-in thy sight  
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,  
With conscience of the new rays that proceed  
Out of my face toward thine..."

* * *

He had left a kiss upon Anna's cheek and the print of his hand over her expanded middle. With time running a little tight as it was, there was one more farewell he needed to make before he set off.

"See you this evening, my lad. Be the best boy for Mummy."

Two small but deceptively strong arms had wound themselves about his legs, making it impossible for him to move.

"Da!" William squealed, pressing his face against his father's legs too. "Go with."

Anna gave a chuckle where she stood, leaning upon the doorframe. "I know that it's boring being stuck inside, but I was hoping you'd want to play some games with me."

John crouched down at the knees, gently disentangling Will's hands and taking them into his much larger ones.

"You have to stay here with Mummy," he said softly to their boy's pouting expression. "You're her helper, remember? It's a very important job." He smoothed his hand at his son's shoulder, picking off a non-existent bit of dust. "Much, much more important than helping Lord Grantham is."

He fretted about leaving them both, anxious that seeing his mother in pain would prove distressing and confusing for William. Initially he wondered whether it would have been better if he did bring their boy up to the Abbey with him during the day; though it certainly wasn't ideal, Anna would be able to call upon their neighbours when the time came. In the end he had been convinced that it was for the best if Anna and Will stayed together; he was a clever and trustworthy boy and wouldn't need much guidance on what to do. What bothered John more was the question of who would look after him during Anna's labour, if it should start during the working hours. Mrs Tripp and Mrs Collins would likely end up battling it out for the honour and he worried that they might not be able to reclaim their son for some time after everything was done, with those two battleaxes in contention.

William looked at him with such a serious face, his blue eyes deeply earnest.

It was their own trouble for having such an adorable boy, making him so much in demand.

"I'll tell him that you asked to come, though. He'll be very pleased to know how eager you were."

He lifted his head, catching sight of Anna's full smile and meeting it with his own.

"If Lord Grantham sends me out anywhere, I'll see what I can bring you back as a treat. Does that sound like a deal?"

Will nodded his head, scurrying back to Anna's side.

"The moment anything feels different..." he uttered low to Anna's ear, standing at full height again.

"I know," she replied, tipping her chin down to look him in the eye. "I honestly don't think it'll be today."

He wouldn't be able to rest or go about things as normal until Baby Bates the second was safely in the world.

"Go on," she gave him a little push upon his arm, "else you'll end up staying later."

"I couldn't stay a second longer than I was required to."

She smiled at his remark, wrenching himself from beneath the canopy reluctantly.

Before he could be properly on his way, a tug on his trouser leg stopped him in his tracks.

"Piggies" William peered up towards him, wanting to make a fervent wish known and understood by his father "Hello, piggies."

John chuckled, gathering his son into his arms for a brief moment; another minute couldn't possibly hurt.

"I'm starting to think that you'd rather live with the piggies full time, my lad."

* * *

The departure of the Crawleys had not put a stop to his running errands. Mrs Patmore was laid low with a heavy cold, and he could not refuse to be useful and go into Ripon to collect her necessary supplies, especially as he was not fulfilling his standard duties. That said, he did decide to kill two birds with one stone and take his Lordship's riding boots to be repaired while he was there.

The trip took longer than he imagined it would. He supposed that he should have anticipated that the day was not to go well when he missed the bus to Ripon by mere seconds and had to wait over half an hour for the next to arrive. On getting there, he found the shoesmith away from his station, traipsing around the shops with a pair of surprisingly heavy boots in his grasp. He must have looked quite the picture, sitting with an array of edible goods at his feet whilst the returned shoesmith hammered steadily away at the worn soles, not willing to rush his important work.

He felt weary when he got back onto the well-trodden path up to the Abbey and a little shivery too, despite the fine autumn day. Perhaps the contagion had already begun, even though Mrs Patmore had bolted herself away – largely on the orders of Mrs Hughes.

John was rather surprised, then, to be met with the cook as he entered the house, clad in her heavy night-robe. Colour had returned to her cheeks as well as just rendering her nose a bright red, although he suspected it had more to do with her animated nature at the particular moment than of her being on the road to recovery.

"Oh, Mr Bates! Where in heaven's name have you been?"

He frowned, heart speeding up as she grabbed at his arm with such force that she nearly sent the groceries that were still bundled in bags scattering across the floor.

She spoke in such a breathless rush that it was almost hard for him to keep up.

"Wasn't long after you left...must have only been ten minutes, or less...Mrs Tripp on the phone...we were going to send one of the hall boys to run after you, but you would have been well on your way by then."

His whole body went into paralysis.  _Anna. The baby._  He had woken with a certain feeling after being roused from sleep more than once that night, that the coming day was to be  _the day_. He should never have left the cottage that morning.

He was left so stunned that he was unable to speak.

"Everything is fine, Mr Bates," Mrs Patmore spoke calmly – something of an effort for her – and relaxed her grip upon the arm of his coat. "Mrs Hughes left the moment after she had got the message to Doctor Clarkson. Mrs Tripp said that between herself and another of your neighbours they would look after young William. I can't imagine that Anna will be anything other than well taken care of."

John was still processing the news; as much as the situation had been imminent, it still came as a terrific bolt out of the blue. He had hoped and expected that he would have been better prepared this time around.

"There's one important thing missing, though."

The cook's voice shook him a little out of his stupor, her clammy hands taking the shopping from his own – and even giving him a bit of a shove.

"Be on your way," she commanded, with a grin lighting her face. "Good lord, if only most of the house wasn't away, Mr Adams could have brought you in the car."

"It's quite alright," he finally managed to respond, nodding to the cook before he turned sharply on his heels. "Thank you, Mrs Patmore."

He was nearly out of the door when he returned back to the kitchen again, lingering in the doorway.

"I bought some cream cakes for Anna...I suppose it's best to leave them here now."

Mrs Patmore shook her head, retrieving the box from on top of one of the bags. "She'll need a treat after all that hard work."

"Um, yes...of course."

Taking the sealed box into his hands, he dipped down to give the cook a hasty peck on the cheek.

"I'll let you know. Or Mrs Hughes will, I'm sure...yes, alright."

Once he had disappeared, almost fast enough to leave smoke billowing at his back if there had been any, Mrs Patmore stood, arms folded and chuckling to herself.

"Heavens to Betsy."

What a lucky, and very good man, Mr Bates was.

* * *

John arrived at the cottage as the afternoon was on the cusp of becoming evening, his breath a little short – more with anxiety than with the pace he had kept up – and sweat lying rather uncomfortably behind his collar.

He was greeted in the hallway by Doctor Clarkson, packing up his physician's satchel. A small smile on the other man's lips served to put John's racing mind at rest.

"All is well, Mr Bates. Mrs Bates did wonderfully."

"I'm relieved to hear it, Doctor," John replied, the slightest hint of a smile lighting his cheeks. "I just wish that I would have been here to help."

He wasn't sure how much help he would have been able to offer. His heart would have been torn in two to behold Anna in such agony – even if it was for the very best reason – but the fact that she had given birth in their home meant that there would have been no need for him to adhere to the ridiculous rule that forbade men to be in even the same room as their wives whilst the miracle of life was happening.

"Oh, I wouldn't curse yourself too much for that." The doctor clapped a hand briefly to his shoulder before passing by, heading towards the door. "My warmest congratulations to you both."

He rose to climb the staircase with the smile cracking his face. No sooner had he set one foot upon the first stair he removed it again, as Mrs Hughes was on her way down.

"Oh, Mr Bates," she cooed in her warmest tone. "Just you wait until you lay your eyes on them."

He felt himself growing more happily anxious by the second, eager to see and kiss Anna, giving her his eternal gratitude for all of her efforts, and of course to meet their new child.

"Thank you so much for coming over. Doctor Clarkson gave no indication that anything went awry."

"Och, no," Mrs Hughes exclaimed. "Anna was marvellous. I don't think she needed me there at all. I've never seen anything like it, and doubt I will again."

It was rather a peculiar thing to say, but John paid little attention to the housekeeper's statement.

"Still, I am very glad you were there." He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "First, Lady Mary, and now you. I think we shall have to pay tribute to you both in some way."

Mrs Hughes replied first off with a wry smile. "I won't give anything away," she said. "Now, you get up there and say hello. I'll pop round and let the wee lad know that his Mummy is well."

John gave a gracious nod to her as another way of thanks before, like the doctor before her, she also made her way out of the cottage.

Then, he couldn't ascend the stairs quickly enough.

He held himself on the threshold of the bedroom for a few moments, preparing himself in reverence to face his wife. A deep breath filled his lungs with air. He already knew that the vision of her would be most beautiful; ethereal, almost. And their newborn child. He delighted himself with imaginings of who they would favour most in appearance. It would take a few weeks to know who they were most like in personality. But all he knew, as in the space of time when they were still unknown to him, was that he loved them endlessly.

He could wait no longer, and pushed the half-open door with the palm of his hand to be fully so. The early evening light was the first thing that struck him, amber in its glow, filling the room and settling at the peak of the headboard, crowning Anna as the mother made new all over again.

Her tired eyes met his own; he saw something of the first time they had ever met in the look newly exchanged.

"Anna," he breathed instinctively.

She smiled towards him; a more wonderful smile he had never seen.

"John," she replied in kind, stuttering slightly with the wave of emotion that possessed them both.

He went closer towards the bed, moving as if in a trance.

Anna peered down for a moment, the smile imprinted upon her face.

"You have your daughter, Mr Bates," she spoke in a soft voice. In awe.

"Oh god, Anna."

She met his eyes again, her arms shifting slightly against the bedcovers.

"And you have another one, too."

As though on cue, one whimper of a faint cry followed another. How could he had not have taken notice? Propped against the bed and both of Anna's outstretched arms were two perfect, if slightly small, newborns.

 _Two of them_.

"I..." Already overtaken by emotion, he struggled to find the words to express what he felt. He took his place next to his wife on the side of the bed, filled with even more admiration for her. "They're beautiful."

Both of them had their eyes shut, one waving her arms with tiny balled fists, whilst the other remained more serene.

John observed Anna looking from one to the other, a similar look of astonishment on her face, tempered with so much love.

"They are."

She moved as much as she was able, gesturing towards him to take one of their daughters. As he held the new warm weight in both arms he felt himself filling up, head to toe, the rush becoming stronger on seeing Anna fully cradle the other child, the one who wriggled about. Already they seemed to have such distinct personalities.

They stayed there for some time, taking everything in – though it was a lot to process.

John slowly took his gaze from the baby in his arms, smiling as she seemed incredibly settled and perfectly content.

"How...?" he asked the question, as ridiculous as it sounded.

"I suppose that's what they call 'a surprise'," Anna replied, looking from the child in her arms towards him. "Or a turn in the tides."

John smiled, holding one daughter against his chest while he reached a hand out to stroke the cheek of the other. It would prove to be double the work they had anticipated, more hours of lost sleep and fretting, even if they had gone through it before. He might have to give up work altogether, or otherwise they would need to call upon some help.

Things to worry about for later.

His breath held as he watched the squirming baby in Anna's arms catch hold of one of her fingers. She smiled in delight.

"Your tribe is not quite as small anymore, Mr Bates."

He took his time to gaze happily at the three of his girls, each in turn.

"And I couldn't feel better about it," he answered with the greatest certainty in his heart.


	14. November / December 1927

The wind was whipping up outside; it could be heard rattling the windows in their frames, ever so slightly. The cottage was due a few checks. Something for another day, he considered; it was far too late an hour now, and while the thoughts would probably keep him awake in so many hours he was willing to surrender them for the time being.

The fire that he had tended to glowed in the hearth, burning down gradually to its last embers. He reckoned there was another half-hour or so left in it yet. Feeling cosy, well-sheltered against what sounded to be a rather fierce storm ahead, he wiggled his toes inside his slippers. His eyes were growing heavier, and he hadn't even realised he had closed them until he became aware, after some seconds had passed, that the slowly dancing amber and orange shades occupying his vision had been replaced by blankness.

He jolted himself without moving within the armchair, ever aware of the warm bundle weighing down his arms. They were aching with the concentrated effort of staying as still as he was physically able. She was getting heavier; well, they both were.  _All perfectly normal_ , Doctor Clarkson had assured them at the last check-up. They had been much smaller than William had been when they were born, which was understandable in a way. There had been no reason to fret, as nature had taken its course, and nobody would have guessed at the difference now.

The smile was immovable from his lips as he gazed down, blinking the encroaching sleep away from his eyes and taking in the perfect features of the face that peeked out of the blanket that was keeping her little body snug and warm. His precious daughter. His darling Emma. He still could not fathom how wonderful she was, would consider himself truly fulfilled if he were to spend the rest of his life cradling her just so. Her eyelids opened slowly, revealing irises that were almost the hue of hyacinths in this low light. She murmured after a second or two, coming to recognise him once more. That moment never failed to take him by marvellous surprise and hold him in such delight.

"Hello, beautiful girl," he uttered gently, adjusting one arm against the other carefully, tilting Emma up just slightly. Her eyes were wider now as she looked at him, her little rosebud of a mouth shifting its expression, each one different than the last or any other that had come before.

He knew that he wasn't imagining it when he noted the small smile there, a replica of one that he had known for years.

"You are the most beautiful in all of the land. Yes, you are."

Her little legs were wriggling in her playsuit, feet against the crook of his elbow, and he chuckled at her apparent pleasure at such a title being bestowed upon her.

One of a pair. Two of them, as perfect as one another.

"Along with your sister, of course," he affirmed, and Emma was not affronted. "And both of you have your beauty from your mama. Yes, your mama is entirely to thank for that."

Like their older brother, the girls did indeed take after Anna; wisps of fair hair dusting their heads, big blue eyes keen to take everything of the world surrounding them in. She had earnestly questioned him about whether he was disappointed, if only a little and knowing it wasn't the right word for the feeling she was attempting to encapsulate. He had understood what she meant but could honestly say that he was not aggrieved in any way about their children's lack of physical resemblance to him. It was what he had always dreamt of – even before he had any right to dream; that any children they should have be like her in every way possible.

He hadn't lost out completely. The older that their son, their ever-precious firstborn, grew the more he was picking up on his father's mannerisms. John would often find William gazing up at him in wonder, or with a fixed expression as they sat side by side, concentration written all over his little face as he sought to copy each movement of his Da. The swell of pride never failed to surge in his chest at his son's attempts, feeling himself worthy in the eyes of his children and wife. As much as he relished being Will's number one role model – a title that was full of honour, indeed – he wished to be his best friend most of all. Turning the really quite serious look on his little face to one that could barely contain his glee as he received a series of tickles was one of John's proudest achievements to date. Anna was just as pleased once she had discovered what all of the commotion was about, finding the two Bates boys nearly flat out on the sofa and tired by their combined laughter.

John lifted Emma, standing her upright with her feet in his lap and bouncing her gently, making her coo as he did so. He chuckled to himself as he thought on the first few weeks after the girls were born and what a whirlwind it had been at times. Anna had called it  _a surprise_  – that was something of an understatement. They had only prepared for one new baby and as such it had been a bit of a scrabble to get everything in order. The girls had no shortage of clothes or comforters – indeed, they seemed to own most of what was in the cottage between them.

Double the babies meant double the work. It could have been much more of a struggle, they could have been much more difficult than they were, but once again they had been blessed. It was by no means plain sailing and much had needed to be adapted to, for Anna most of all as a new mother all over again. He was overcome with admiration for her, how she coped with the apparently endless feeds and demands of two little girls whom she doted on. There was nothing new in him being amazed by her but still he felt the power of it lifting him, as well as the love that had multiplied within their household. He himself had wished to be surrounded by children not too long ago and as the dream became reality he could not complain about it, not for a single moment.

It might not have been what they had planned but they had always got by before, and any tribulations they faced now were thankfully much happier to deal with.

They always had one another to lean upon and to share the load. He readily admitted to feeling shamed that he couldn't do more and had been ready more than once to give his resignation to his Lordship, knowing that Anna was struggling despite her claims to the contrary. She was the one who prevented him in doing so, saying that they could do with the extra money for a little longer and insisting that she was perfectly fine to soldier on – not that he ever had any doubt in her abilities. Both the Tripps and Mrs Collins were always eager to offer a helping hand or several and they had not been short in visitors from the Abbey either, when working schedules would permit.

Anyone would have been hard-pressed to find parents that were more brimming with pride than the two of them, and the feelings had radiated to each of their neighbours and guests. The amount of love in the Bates household was unmistakable. Which meant that it was very easy to overlook the few times that either one of them – and both, on a couple of occasions – had confused one daughter for the other on introducing the pair of them to someone the girls had never met before. Thinking back, John could chuckle about it now. It's not as though it had been hard to do. To avoid such embarrassment they had at one stage taken to dressing Emma in pink and Charlotte in cream, but thankfully such measures hadn't needed to be employed for very long.

In many ways the girls were like peas-in-a-pod, sharing so much in common. Yet they had their own distinct personalities too, which were emerging stronger with every day that passed. Emma was the quieter of the pair, contemplative and always observing. Even now John found himself being drawn in, both of them fascinated in equal measure as they stared at one another, happy to bask in the blissful quiet. Charlotte had a livelier nature, not quite what could be called boisterous but certainly playful and inquisitive. By design she seemed to be the more sociable of the two, never complaining when she was passed around into the arms of virtual strangers, always finding something to keep her amused.

Emma turned her head, letting out an agitated mewl, searching for her sister. As much as it discomforted John to know that any of their children were in distress it also warmed his heart to think on the fact that the girls didn't like to be apart for very long. Of course, that may well change when they weren't as tiny as they were now.

"Shhh, my darling," he said in a hushed tone, holding his daughter close to his chest as he rose from the comfort of his armchair. "Lottie's not far away. Look, she's with Mama."

Emma attempted to look for herself, but couldn't quite see until he sat them both down on the settee in the seat next to Anna's side. He gazed from one daughter to the other, Charlotte content in her mother's arms, the peaceful one for a change. John could see that she was drifting into sleep, her tiny fingers flexing just a little against her blanket and making soft murmurs. The picture of tranquillity all wrapped up and safe, and just as beautiful as her slightly older sister, by the matter of mere minutes.

His devoted gaze drifted upwards, a loving smile filling his face as he took in the sight of Anna, a shawl wrapped about her shoulders to keep out any remnants of chill. While her arms had not slackened, holding on to Charlotte securely, her chin had drooped near enough to her chest and, as he lowered his own head to get a better look, he saw that her eyes were indeed closed.

Emma's gurgles close by were what roused her, the expression on her face a little startled. She smiled down at the daughter that wasn't in her arms in the absence of being able to reach out and touch her, John angling her that bit closer. Any passing qualms had disappeared, each one of them relaxed and contented. Anna's eyes were glazed with the starting of sleep and John found himself smiling fondly towards her.

"It's my fault for waking her," he said, Emma's big blue eyes staring up at them both. "She was getting to the same state not that long ago."

"Hmmm," Anna mumbled, adjusting the now soundly sleeping Charlotte against her chest, "s'okay."

He got to his feet again slowly, his hands full with the daughter he had current possession of. Craning his head down he placed a kiss to the crown of his wife's head, wanting to cherish her as much as she deserved.

"I'll take her to get settled," he bounced Emma gently in his arms before settling her to his side, "and I can check in on Will, too. You just concentrate on getting up the stairs."

If he had an extra pair of arms he would have taken Charlotte too. Anna looked utterly exhausted, though her cheeks were ruddy, glowing healthily from the fire that had burned well throughout the evening.

Luckily it didn't take that long to sort, not even needing to resort to one of William's storybooks to see things right. Emma was out like a light after he had rocked her towards slumber for a few minutes, and he kissed her little forehead before laying her down next to Charlotte, the two peas reunited for the night. Will had been nothing to worry about either, clutching onto his oldest and dearest teddy bear and with the smallest hint of a smile upon his cherubic face. No doubt dreaming of many wonderful things.

To his surprise when he got to their bedroom Anna was not tucked up underneath the sheets but instead sitting on the edge of the bed. She blinked to him and he went over to her, slipping the shawl from her shoulders and offering his hands, helping her to get changed from her day clothes into her nightgown.

She shook her head as he did up the buttons at her neck. "I just haven't the energy."

"You don't need to make an excuse, love," he assured her, looking into her tired eyes as she lifted her chin towards him, her arms slipping about his middle.

He saw her into bed before he changed into his pyjamas, turning out the little lamp at the bedside and climbing in quickly, the whistle of the wind getting louder outside the window.

Her head pillowed against the crook of his neck almost immediately and he smiled in contentment, pulling her closer with an arm around her waist.

"We're doing alright, aren't we?" she mumbled, her eyes close to closing as he turned his head upon the pillow to look at her.

He pursed his lips, nodding his head in agreement even though she couldn't see him doing so.

"More than that," he uttered in a low tone, not wanting to disturb her now that she was able to fall into peaceful sleep after a long day.

He was quite sure that she wouldn't have heard him as she succumbed so quickly, but he gave the affirmation regardless.

"You're doing wonderfully, my love."

* * *

_December 1927_

As was usual, Anna was up and sitting at the kitchen table when he came downstairs. She cradled Emma in her arms as she nursed her, soothing a hand at her little back whilst she took her fill. Charlotte had already been fed and cooed from the carrying cot on the table-top up at John as he snuck a hand in, tickling her tummy and causing her to giggle.

"Mumma!" William was sitting in his highchair, banging the end of the spoon he was holding against the wooden surface. "Hungry, Mumma!"

"I won't be long, sweet pea," Anna said, stroking Emma's downy head at her breast.

John intervened, walking around to where their son was perched up high, still tapping out a steady rhythm upon the table-top.

"No need for that, lad," he said sagely, pretending to scold but knowing it was useless when his boy looked up at him with his innocent eyes. With a gentle hand he prised the spoon from William's grip, ruffling a hand through his thick sandy hair. "What's say I cook you up some porridge while Mummy is busy seeing to your sisters, eh?"

He flashed a smile towards Anna, her shoulders sagging in relief.

"I should have started on his breakfast earlier, but these two just couldn't wait this morning."

John gave her a look to affirm that she needn't make any excuses whatsoever for her actions, while William frowned.

Anna let out a laugh at the vaguely disgruntled expression on their son's face, sitting Emma up in her lap and wiping the excess milk from her tiny mouth.

"You like porridge, don't you, sweet pea?"

Will tipped his head to the side in contemplative thought before raising both of his arms high in the air.

"Want dippy egg!" he shrieked, loud enough to wake the neighbours. It was a good job they were all early risers, like their own household.

"That's not enough to keep you warm," John argued playfully, already having got out the porridge mix and set the pans on the stove. "It's getting colder, you need some heating in that tummy of yours."

Though he was a clever little boy indeed he didn't quite comprehend the extent of the somewhat sophisticated argument that his father offered.

"What if we put a big dollop of strawberry jam in it?"

That particular compromise seemed to sweeten the deal, and when he was presented with the bowl in front of him John had to move quickly to prevent Will from snapping it up and causing an accident, blowing on the portion that he heaped onto the spoon before it went near his son's mouth.

"Some for you, too." He placed another bowl in front of Anna, scooping Emma up into his arms to allow his wife to enjoy a breakfast uninterrupted.

She smiled up at him, a look of quiet grace upon her face in the middle of the happy morning chaos.

"Thank you," she said, both of her hands going around the bowl. "Don't I get any jam?"

He couldn't help but grin towards her, eyes crinkling at the corners as he brought the jar to the table.

"I would have thought that you were sweet enough as it is."

Ten minutes didn't go by until she was on her feet again, giving the kitchen a quick tidy and taking a restless William out of his highchair, allowing him to toddle back into the front room. John wished that she would slow down a little bit, but he was aware that he fussed too much as it was. He had always marvelled at the apparently boundless amounts of energy that she had within that petite frame of hers but now that she was surviving on even less sleep than she was used to in her days as a maid he found it quite unbelievable.

She let out a loud gasp as she hitched Charlotte onto her hip, and he frowned in concern.

"I didn't realise that was the time," she explained, the exasperation clear in her eyes. "Nearly half eight already. Where is the morning going?"

"There's no rush, is there?"

As they faced one another the girls cooed and reached out to each other, tiny hands pressing together.

She sighed. "I suppose not. But I was planning on going into Ripon today. Christmas is only a couple of weeks away, and we've barely a thing sorted."

They looked at the girls, mesmerised in their own little world, not aware of seasons or such significant occasions at such a tender age.

"I haven't even got them dressed yet, never mind myself."

He brushed a hand at her arm, cupping her shoulder.

"It's my half-day today, and his Lordship told me not to bother going up until dinner time. I can go instead, and take the girls with me, if you give me a list of the things you'd like."

The colour flooded back into her cheeks as she exhaled a relieved breath.

"I'd forgotten you were off. Honestly, I don't know whether I'm coming or going these days."

He shook his head lovingly, chuckling.

"I think it's perfectly understandable, keeping up with these tykes."

Anna pressed a kiss to Charlotte's cheek, reaching out to hold both the girls' little hands with one of her own.

"Don't you two give your Daddy too much trouble now," she said, before Will's happy shouting had her running from the kitchen to see what he found so fascinating.

John smiled at both of his daughters, Charlotte gazing up at him from the carry-cot and Emma from his arms.

"We'll have an adventure, won't we, girls?"

The girls seemed to understand, bobbing their heads with blinking blue eyes.

"We'll have to keep some things a surprise for Mummy, though."

* * *

He was terrible at concealing the truth from Anna, even in the far happier circumstances they found themselves in since they had started their family. The fabrication he had settled upon to ensure that she would come up to the Abbey with him for another evening shift – that Miss Daniels had stained one of Lady Mary's favourite dresses almost beyond repair – neither explained why Anna might want to wear one of her own preferred frocks nor why it was necessary that the children come along with them and not be dropped off at either the Tripps' or Mrs Collins' residence. Also from past and unfortunately first-hand experience, he did not wish to cast poor Miss Daniels in a less-than-favourable light.

Anna's face was a picture – albeit a most enchantingly beautiful one – from the moment he had divulged. In passing moments, hints of irritation floated over her expression – quickly dispersed – and he was vaguely concerned that she might give him a smack.

_If she didn't want to kiss him so much she could burst._

She echoed his phrase of "Christmas come early" in varying quizzical tones as she got herself ready and he insisted upon dressing the children, her puzzlement making his very heart smile. She took William into her arms, adjusting the collar on his miniature shirt and dusting down his trousers while John held the girls with one arm each.

"Don't think you can get round me that easily," she said, her brow furrowing faintly as she looked down towards the settee.

"You look marvellous," he replied, in a tone that defined almost perfect innocence.

He watched her cheeks colour and her gaze dip down to the floor, and once more felt confirmed as the luckiest man on the earth. She wore a pale blue dress that she had fashioned partly with her own fair hands, sewing satin panels into the skirt and modest lace at the neckline.

William murmured his approval at his Mumma's appearance too, his hands prodding at the lace.

She was still reprimanding him as they all boarded the car, driven over by Mr Adams and waiting outside the cottage patiently. Before he secured the door behind them John had seen Mrs Tripp at the window, doing her utmost not to make her curtain-twitching appear too obvious.

"I hope you haven't put Mrs Hughes out, not when it's not needed," Anna whispered to John, keen for the chauffeur not to overhear as he drove them towards the big house. She kept one hand steadying William as he clambered about on the leather seat, fascinated by the journey. "She has so much to think of already, especially at this time of year."

John looked at her with a smile glowing in his eyes, aware of what would be lying in wait.

"If you must know, it was half her idea." He smiled down at Charlotte, who was wriggling against his arms – a contrast to Emma, who was still with her back snugged in the crook of Anna's elbow. "Though I'm certain you won't be as cross with her as you are with me."

She shook her head, the newly shining moonlight falling through the window and across her features. "I'm not cross with either of you. But especially not you. I just didn't expect..."

He intervened, standing Charlotte up in his lap as she was getting increasingly restless.

"I know how much you love Christmas." She always had, even when the season of cheer and goodwill had been anything but to them. "And I don't want you to feel pressure this year. You deserve another Christmas Day, just to enjoy."

She beamed as Charlotte gave a squeal, attempting to encourage her sister, whilst William tugged on the skirt of her coat, wanting her to look at the same view he had.

"And for them, too."

John mirrored her smile, looking around at their three very different but equally loved children.

"Of course."

He thought he knew what to expect but was taken aback himself on seeing how the servants' hall had been festooned, treating them as if they were guests of the highest honour. Mrs Patmore had outdone herself preparing all of the essential ingredients for the early Christmas dinner in their abundance. The turkey wasn't quite as big as the one served up to the family, but it was more than enough to go around the gathered guests. William sat like a king at the head of the table – and was crowned as such by a hat from one of the crackers plucked from the decorations – propped on Mrs Hughes's knee. He had a small plate to himself, and Anna and John beamed with joy as he cleaned almost everything on it. The girls missed most of the celebrations, choosing to sleep instead, but the loving smiles Anna offered spoke volumes. Perhaps they would make this something of a tradition, celebrating the holiday a little bit before it arrived with the people who were still very much an extended family to them.

Lord knows he wouldn't have exchanged any part of their life now for anything else, yet he was glad to feel a sense of nostalgia come over him, remembering the happier of seasons that had passed in the very same place. Anna being by his side for all of them.

They were left in their old seats, able to share a moment to themselves as Mr Barrow took William to see the grand Grantham Christmas tree, as majestic as ever and perhaps even bearing a gift for a special little boy at its foot, and Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore took a twin each, smiling fondly at them.

"I'll be perfectly happy if we have bread and butter for Christmas Day proper," John announced. Indeed the Christmas pudding had been so rich that it was likely it would see him right well towards next Christmas.

"You might have no other option."

He smiled easily at his wife, glad that he had been able to indulge her.

She sighed, stretching a hand across her stomach – this time full from the feast they had partaken in. "It may not be what we had imagined at the beginning of the year, but I think it might just be the happiest Christmas ever."

"I quite agree," he said, glancing at their daughters, sleeping soundly in the arms of their adopted grandmothers, and then looking up towards the ceiling. "Well, I never."

The sprig of mistletoe hung in the space above both of their heads, fixed quite cleverly in that particular spot.

His eyes twinkled as they fell back upon her, smiling as she broke into giggles.

"I suppose that was one thing you arranged?" she questioned him.

"Quite specifically," he replied with a cheeky smirk. "What is Christmas without it, after all?"

Anna shook her head in amusement before shifting her seat closer to his. The tingles still ran through him in anticipation, much as they always would, building to a peak as she brushed her hand to his cheek.

"You never need the excuse, Mr Bates."


	15. March 1928

Spring had arrived most completely, heralded by a greater and prolonged amount of daylight. The sun fell in streams upon the floor of their front room, brightness ribboning its way up the walls steadily. John noted that the golden rays were the perfect complement to the figure of his wife as she went back and forth, moving as nimbly and gracefully as a dancer, her feet almost too quick to catch in any one spot for more than a few seconds at a time.

She could be heard huffing lightly as she darted from place to place, her hands wiping down the tops of cabinets and over the few ornaments that were on display, moving with brevity but not carelessness onto the task of smoothing down covers and plumping cushions. She plucked up one that was wider than her own frame with hardly any effort at all, throwing it onto the floor with a soft thud.

From his arms both of their daughters bobbed their heads at the  _whumping_  sound, two pairs of big blue eyes going wide in fascination and, after a moment or two of silent wonder, two little mouths opening to let a chorus of soft babbling emerge.

Three pairs of eyes watched as she continued on her mission, the force of a hurricane contained in such a petite frame, and John considered that it was only right that their girls should be just as taken with their mother as he was.

He did feel a little dizzy regarding her though, trying fervently to catch her eyes as she went around the room, powered by an unwavering sense of determination.

"I'm not sure whether there's a single speck of dust left to be discovered in here," he said, loud enough to rouse her attention but soft enough so as not to startle – either Anna or the babies that were nestled one in the crook of each arm.

His tone held a note of amusement too; it was not the first time they had received visitors to the cottage since their brood had increased, and whilst she was keen to keep on top of things and show a presentable as well as a happy home he had hardly known her to fuss to this degree before. It was almost as if the Dowager Countess herself had been invited for tea and he had not been privy to such sacred knowledge until this very moment.

She turned her face to him at long last – what with everything, seeing to the children as well as rising yet earlier in order to clean the house thoroughly, he had not had a good glimpse of her since the night before. She did appear to be somewhat perturbed but as usual he could not fail to notice her striking beauty, the aforementioned sunlight causing her hair to shine a more effervescent shade of gold and the colour up in her cheeks.

A soft but noticeable sigh fell from her lips as she wiped her hands on the apron that was tied to her waist. "A housemaid knows to look for these things. No matter how long you've been away and how many other things you've learnt in the meantime, your eyes never deceive you."

He watched her with a smile as her head twisted again, those eagle eyes of hers looking to every crevice and corner, checking for the countless time whether there was anything that she had missed. His own gaze trained upon the elegant slope of her neck, the pads of her fingers as they tapped against it.

"Do you really think that she will mind?"

Something seemed to occur to her in the moments after he had uttered the words; her hands stilled against herself and she moved the one that was resting against her neck down to join the other in front of her waist. A calm descended to lift the worry that was wrinkling her brow and a gentle smile curved the corners of her mouth as she looked towards him, her attention fully focused.

"No," she uttered, the smile deepening upon her features, "I don't suppose she will."

Her gaze went from his own to take in the two girls who were so keen for their mama's affection, and a warmth spread through John to see how delighted she was to behold them again.

"I want everything to look nice, though. The curtains are a bit musty; I really should have brought the lighter ones down from the attic."

John tilted his head in contemplation, unaware that to his right little Emma was imitating his pose.

"They look perfectly fine to me," was his acknowledgement. A smirk began on his lips as he considered that the fine day would surely only become more so as the hours progressed. "Anyway, there may be no need. If that sun continues to blaze then they will lighten all of their own accord."

Anna looked abhorred, her expression still flawlessly beautiful. "I should hope not, these are the only winter curtains we have! We can't have them bleaching out."

"Certainly not."

He raised his eyebrows and stifled a chuckle for all of a few seconds. After pretending to be not best pleased with his teasing Anna could not hold back either and giggled along with him, her shoulders sagging in relief.

"I wish that I could have done more to help," he said, shifting forward on the settee, as much as he could allow.

She shook her head softly, a strand of hair escaping from her loose braid. "You've been a help in the most wonderful way," she replied, signalling to their daughters who were very contented indeed propped up against their father. "Don't underestimate yourself, Mr Bates."

"I'll try not to. But I'm afraid that I'm not as nimble as a former housemaid." And he certainly wasn't as skilled at sprucing cushions to make them appear as plump and pristine as they were when they were first bought.

"You have many of your own skills," she returned with a smile, moving to scoop up one twin and then the other into her arms, both of them having perfected the art of carrying two babies at once. As the girls got comfortable being transferred from one parent to the other she caught sight of the clock from the corner of her eye. "But I'm afraid that timekeeping isn't one of them. You'd better get a move on."

John moved quickly when he noticed the time himself, stopping in the doorway before he could pull on his coat and hat.

"Let me make you a cup of tea before I go. His Lordship won't be too put out if I'm five minutes late, and I'm quite sure that you have worked up a thirst."

Though her eyes looked ready to offer an argument her breath couldn't expel to dismiss such a generous offer. He ambled towards the kitchen with cane in hand, knowing that she had already washed and drained the best set of china, ready for use later.

"Don't fill up the pot," her voice called to him before he disappeared into the other room completely, "I should give it another going over in there."

* * *

By mid-morning there was no work left to do; if she dared to polish any more she was quite sure that she would have made a start on stripping the surfaces away. The girls were sleeping soundly in their cribs, William was happily occupied with his crayons and there was not a noise to be heard, other than the gentle ticking of the clock and the birds whose chirping came through the opened window.

There were moments during her days when having a breather, a quiet moment to herself, would have been greatly welcomed. Yet when they arrived – and in such a great quantity – she found them to be less of a respite and instead deeply unnerving.

The time of year always affected her; as much as she longed to forget, she found it impossible to do so. With each year that passed and with more distance to fill in the time things  _did_  get easier. But there remained a shadow, decreasing by inches but as pitch black as it ever had been, casting itself over the most hopeful and joyous of seasons. It made her mourn regularly; when the rest of the world was emerging out of the earth from the frosts of winter she yearned to hide away, cover herself and be rendered invisible until she could be assured that there would be no danger lurking in wait.

John knew when her mood was lowering and offered support in the best ways he knew how, whether it was to talk to her and lift her spirits or otherwise to leave her be until in her own time she made her way out of the fog. There were their children, the brightest rays of sunshine in her life. Their existence was testament to love being the most powerful force, the catalyst for survival and the best way of succeeding that she could think of.

She looked out of the window into the garden that would bring forth its blooms again soon, inhaling deeply, focusing on her breathing and the seconds that passed, marked audibly by the clock. It was just a feeling and it would fade away; nothing to be afraid of.

The thought had crossed her mind several times before today had arrived; perhaps it wasn't the best time for a visit and to act as cheerily as she could. Of course it was not  _her_  fault – when she had suggested the particular date she could not have possibly known. An excuse would have been easy enough to think of and to believe, especially with three young children to care for.

As swiftly as the impulses struck anew she pushed them away again. They had been planning this for such a long time and the prospect had given her something to look forward to, at a time when she needed it the most.

She watched a sparrow take flight from the branch of an overhanging tree, smiling at the speed at which it flitted away, and moved back into the front room, keen to see what her little boy was up to. As yet she hadn't quite got into the habit of not missing him even when she was absent from him for the smallest amount of time, the same being true for her two darling girls. They were taking after her, so she knew that it would be more trouble than it was worth to wake them early from their slumber.

"Someone looks very happy, indeed."

William looked up at her from his spot on the settee with a beaming grin, his chubby hands holding a crayon in one hand and one of John's books in the other, clutched to his chest.

"I draw!" he exclaimed, and it was only when he had announced his pursuit did she cast her eyes downward and, half-horrified, half-amused, see the fluttering of pages that had fallen across the floor in an artful arrangement.

"Can you let Mummy see, sweet pea?"

She tried her best not to over-react, hardly thinking that their son could be at fault when John was prone to leaving his volumes laying about in various places around the cottage. Will must have realised that he had done something wrong as he turned suddenly shy and had to be coaxed into lowering the book from where he held it against himself with the aid of Anna's gentle hand helping him from his side.

The words on the pages that remained fixed within the spine were now only half-readable, scribbled over with red and blue blotches.

She couldn't help smiling as her boy glanced up at her with big eyes, keen for her approval. If it wasn't too presumptuous or biased of her to say, she thought that he possessed quite the artistic talent. She was sure that John would agree, perhaps a little more readily if Will hadn't used one of his favourite books as a drawing pad.

"Well, that looks wonderful," she said, smoothing her hand against his silky hair before she kissed the top of his head, "and now we know what we can buy Da as a birthday present."

She watched as Will started another doodle and then bent down to gather the discarded loose pages from where they were scattered. It happened that she had been wrong, after all; when you had children there was always  _some_  work to be done, if you waited long enough.

Just as she had picked the last leaf up the knock came upon the door, echoing from the hallway and reaching her where she stood. For a second or two it shook her, coming rather unexpectedly, and she clutched her hands over her stomach until she glanced at the clock upon the wall and saw that it had gone midday.

Unclenching her fingers and taking another deep breath she untied the apron that was still fixed upon her waist, folding and depositing it away quickly, taking a moment to glance at herself in the mirror before she went into the hallway, conscious to not leave it too long.

A moment of uncertainty almost stopped her in her tracks but she pushed through it, twisting the handle of the door before there was any more time to hesitate. The expected visitor stood upon the doorstep, the brim of her hat almost but not quite covering all of the flame-coloured hair that lay underneath. Her coat was light and her smile was wide as she raised it up towards Anna, who smiled just the same.

"Gwen," she exclaimed brightly, "it's so good to see you."

* * *

There was some tea left in the pot and biscuits on a plate but they were left to go respectively cold and uneaten as Gwen contented herself with cradling Emma, rocking her almost imperceptibly. Sitting opposite Anna held Charlotte and mused that it was handy to have another pair of arms to help.

Her old friend gazed down at her daughter, who was no doubt peering up at this person, completely new to her, with enquiring and slightly sleepy eyes. Gwen smiled and tilted her head as Emma murmured a little, a sign that she was comfortable.

"They're so lovely at this age," she commented, her voice sounding far off in reminiscence as she moved a hand to stroke Emma's soft and downy fair hair, "I'd almost forgotten."

Anna smiled towards the sight, glad that the pair of them had been acquainted well so quickly. She had felt a little embarrassed having to ask again how old Gwen's children were –  _spending the entirety of your days immersed in the lives of little ones had the consequence of turning your brain into mush_  – but her friend had not had the same qualms. Six and four, she provided. It seemed almost bizarre to think of for the both of them; Gwen hardly believing that such an amount of time had passed and she trying to imagine Will and the girls being the same ages, as they would be someday.

"Would you think of having another?" she enquired with only a touch of hesitancy. As they were both mothers it seemed fair to say that they had reached yet a greater level of understanding and such inquisitive notions were accepted naturally.

She noticed Gwen's eyes to be a little wistful as she raised her gaze upwards, looking not at her but into the distance for a moment or two. A sudden coldness and regret came over her, and she found herself fervently hoping that Gwen had not endured the same agonies that she had, of a child there in one minute and gone away in but a few moments more. It would be a step far too far, not something she would dare to ask in a thousand years.

Thankfully she soon brightened, any notion that had occurred disappearing into distant thought. In Anna's arms her other daughter wriggled, and she adjusted Charlotte, turning her warm weight around the other way to face her sister and Gwen.

"Everything seems so busy. I'm not really sure how it got that way, if truth be told. There are too many people in need of help, and I find I can't refuse." Gwen paused for a breath, the weight that she had let show through in an unguarded interlude becoming much clearer now. "I think perhaps it would be rather unfair."

Anna nodded in understanding, even though she felt herself to be quite separate in that particular regard. She held her own ambitions, of course, but they seemed incomparable to all that Gwen was doing. She was very proud of her friend's achievements, whilst at the same time finding them perplexing, but no less remarkable. The memory was brought to her mind and how foolish she had felt for it, being so awed by Gwen when she had turned up at the Abbey and had taken her coat quite unthinking and instinctively; this woman who looked the very same as the housemaid she had once shared a room with but was considerably changed. Despite their correspondence, less frequent than it had been in the earlier days since Gwen's departure, she found herself really quite astounded by the woman who had stood in front of her, as though she had transformed herself effortlessly into the class of someone they both used to wait upon.

Sitting here now she felt foolish indeed, but then at the time her mind had been somewhere else entirely. She thought of it fondly now, watching her son as he sat upon the rug between their chairs, moving one of his wooden trains back and forth.

"You never know what's around the corner," Anna added, thinking of her own situation and how she had once been so near to surrendering her hope completely.  _And then there had been William_.

Gwen answered the hopeful statement with a smile. "That's true."

She looked down at Emma again, pursing her lips and then opening her mouth wide in a game designed to keep up the baby's amusement, which in turn amused both women.

"John was a wonderful help, especially when they were very little."

"That's a common trait amongst men who bear that name," Anna said with a quirking of her lips, catching a glowing glance from Gwen, who was just as tickled by the coincidence. At first she had consistently referred to her own John as  _Mr Harding_ , though she faltered a couple of times, until Anna could feel that it was rather uneasy and bid that she use the terms with which she was more comfortable. Perhaps it could have been argued that she was not paying heed to her own advice, given that she was still so used to addressing John as Mr Bates in the company of others; those who were not their children, anyway.

They chatted more, and did indulge in a few more biscuits between them, finding the ones that were half-covered in chocolate especially irresistible. The girls started to nap again, falling asleep within seconds of each other and were settled into their cribs to see out the remainder of the afternoon, Anna smiling at how slowly and carefully Gwen placed Emma down against her blankets, almost as though she was made of the most delicately blown glass. She supposed that it was customary to take extra precautions with other people's children, thinking of her own behaviour with Master George when he had been tiny and Nanny had been not in the vicinity. In the time that had since passed she had known herself to be far more considerate with her flesh and blood, never taking for granted just how precious each of them were.

The thought remained on her mind, drifting in and out with varying degrees of strength that she felt as a physical swell in her chest and making her friend's next utterance all the more poignant, if very happily so.

"Could you have ever imagined that this would have been the way our lives would have gone?"

There was a sincere wondering in Gwen's tone – almost as though she hadn't dared to consider the enormity until now – which caused her to smile, growing wider as the seconds passed. It didn't seem so hard to go back to all those years ago when they had confided and occasionally commiserated, staying up too late once their duties had been done, dreaming of what may have filled their futures. Everything had seemed so simplistic then and Anna held a certain fondness as well as exasperation for her old outlook, which at the time she had believed to be advanced for her years.

"Well, the stork didn't bring us husbands," she said, remembering one particular exchange with a smirk shared by her friend, "but it did see fit to visit us both eventually."

She recalled the letters that she had read over cups of tea at the Abbey, the strange mix of joy and sorrow that had struck her when she took in the news in Gwen's neat hand that she was expecting for the first time. She had longed to have a glimpse of the future, just so that she could be certain that the same fate would be in store for her. Thinking back she was rather glad that such an option had not been available.

"I always knew that it would turn out like this for you," Gwen uttered, her eyes glancing around the cottage with its modest but well-kept furnishings. "At least, I always  _hoped_. After Mr Bates came along, anyway."

Anna felt her cheeks and her neck flush warm, her head filled with such a cavalcade of memories.

"It wasn't smooth sailing, but we got there in the end."

In many respects the years had gone by in something of a blur, and if she had listened to the story of their life as if it had been happening to someone else she might have wavered on the certainty of a happy ending. Looking into the depths of her heart she knew that there had never been any doubts, and looking at her friend she was more than happy to be assured that others shared her own powerful beliefs.

"I haven't forgotten the ways that you helped." She hoped that Gwen was able to read the meaning in her eyes, the gratitude that she would always owe her for being such a valued friend.

"I didn't really help  _that_  much," Gwen answered, as humble as she had always been, "but it was the very least I could do. I swear that Mrs Hughes didn't believe me when I said that the bus must have arrived late, though. She gave me such a look at every dinner for a month afterwards."

Anna couldn't stop herself from giggling. "It wasn't just you. We should have known even then that nothing gets past Mrs Hughes."

"I was so scared of her at first."

"I remember," Anna said, her mind casting back yet further, "you wouldn't say so much as your name and  _'yes, Mrs Hughes'_  for six months or more."

Gwen appeared a little ashamed and then laughed heartily. "I can't believe how silly I was. Then again, I can't believe that she and Mr Carson actually got married. It seems so strange to think of."

"The signs were there," Anna mused, "but I think they were rather better at hiding their affections. Or, in Mr Carson's case, ignoring them altogether for too long."

Gwen's eyes lit up as a crafty smile crept onto her face. "At least Mrs Hughes knows by now that there definitely isn't a stork. It'd put itself out with carrying Mr Carson!"

The pair of them laughed and laughed, feeling a touch guilty but relieved for the most part that they weren't under charge any longer where Mrs Hughes in one of her more formidable moments would catch them giggling like schoolgirls and scold them thoroughly with a cutting glare.

"Mumma!" Anna felt a tugging on her skirt, and two pairs of eyes looked down to see the most adorable little boy peering up at his mother. "Play, outside?"

The sun had moved from where it had been in the morning, taking up residence at the back of the cottage instead, but there was still a fine hour or two to be had.

With her hands free she had little trouble in hoisting Will from the floor, greeting him with a wide smile as she settled him high in her arms.

"I don't see why not," she answered him brightly. "Would you mind if Gwen joined us too?"

He looked at Gwen shyly for a moment before hiding his face in the crook of Anna's neck. Thankfully she didn't take offence, laughing lightly.

"Like a completely different little boy," Anna said by way of explanation, "he just has to get used to you. Where has my happy-go-lucky Will gone?" She looked around the room as if to provide answer to her question, and then pressed her lips to the crown of Will's head as she swayed her hips from side to side.

"It's quite alright," Gwen uttered, "I don't mind. I'll have to come around more often, if that would be well with you, William?"

Cautiously, she reached a hand out to brush against William's arm and was rewarded at first with a little look upwards and then a spark of a smile which grew far quicker than either of them expected.

With some people it didn't take very long for Will's shyness to fade at all.

* * *

The hours went by in a flash, until she found herself with one very overtired toddler on her hands. Will's head lay heavy upon her shoulder as she stood by the door, bidding a prolonged goodbye to the friend she hadn't realised she had missed so much.

"I feel awful that it's taken me so long to come and visit you."

Anna shook her head as fiercely as she was able at Gwen's lament, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Will. "I'm as much to blame. We both have a lot on our plates."

"Well, we won't leave it so long the next time," Gwen replied with a smile. "I'd love to have you over to our house. Perhaps we could have a day out when the weather gets better still, it'd be nice for the children to all meet one another."

The idea was a very good one, and she beamed a smile. "That would be lovely."

Gwen nodded before stepping forward to kiss Anna's cheek and stroke a gentle hand against one of Will's flopping arms.

"I'll see you soon, then."

She walked backwards a few steps down the cottage's pathway but didn't get very far until she stumbled into John, who was arriving home just as she was departing. From the spot where she stood Anna could see the fluster upon Gwen's face at hitting her husband with her back square in the chest and chewed on her bottom lip to stifle her smile.

"Oh, Mr Bates, I'm so sorry!"

"No harm done," he replied, his warm timbre reaching Anna from halfway down the path, "it's good to see you, Gwen. I thought I'd stay a little bit longer at the house to give you ladies some time to yourself."

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that. I wouldn't want to keep you out of your own home."

John smiled towards Gwen, telling her that it was no trouble at all. "I'm sure you had lots to catch up on, I didn't want to be in the way."

"Yes...I mean, we did, not that...it was lovely." Poor Gwen was tying herself in knots, her cheeks having turned almost the same shade as her hair. "I was only just saying to Anna that...well, she'd be best placed to tell you herself. I really should be on my way."

"I could see you back, if you'd like?"

"No, no," Gwen hurried to say, "I'm meeting Mr Harding at the tea-shop in the village so it'll be quite fine. Thank you anyway, Mr Bates."

"You're welcome," John answered, though he wasn't quite sure for what. With a swift wave of her hand and a longer look back towards Anna on the doorstep, Gwen headed off.

"That was a bit strange," he said, greeting her with a kiss to her other cheek and lifting Will from her arms before he even made it fully through the door, "I trust that she was fine with you?"

"Perfectly," Anna replied with a wry smile, watching her husband's back as he made his way into the front room and she trailed him.

Many topics of conversation had passed between them that afternoon, particularly in the spirit of reminiscence. It was hardly a surprise to Anna that Gwen confessed to having had a small fancy for  _Mr Bates_  back in the day, though she was hasty to explain that it was only because he was so kind and considerate towards her when she had been facing opposition, and she had never expected anything to come from it, not when he had clearly been so taken with Anna. Indeed there may as well have been nobody else in the room or the whole of the house when she was around as far as he was concerned, a quotation that made her feel pleasantly jittery inside.

"I suppose it's not only Mr Carson who can't see past his nose," she murmured as she started to tidy away the tea things.

"What was that?" John said, looking up at her once he had made sure that Will was comfortable curled on the settee.

"Nothing," she replied, though the twinkle in her eyes surely gave her away.

She dipped down to pull a blanket over and then plant a kiss upon Will as he slept peacefully, knowing that the girls would be up again soon enough, and rubbed a hand at John's back before he took his residence in the armchair and she picked up the tea tray.

"I'll help you," he said, moving to get out of the chair less than a minute after he had sat down, but Anna shook her head at his offer.

"It's fine. I put a stew in the oven before Gwen came; I thought that it would be easier. There's hardly anything to be done."

"My darling," he said with a smile that warmed her heart, "you think of everything."

"I try my best."

She realised too late that she hadn't quite thought of  _everything_ ; once she had rinsed the cups and saucers and placed the pot of stew onto the stove to warm through, she arrived back into the front room to find a puzzled John picking up the book that lay upon the arm of the chair, watching a fair few of the pages as they escaped and floated down to the floor, landing around his feet.

"Oh yes," she began, yet another smile barely restraining itself upon her lips, "you might want to choose a different one to read tonight."


	16. June 1928

_June 1928_

Anna did not place a great deal of importance on material things. Growing up as she had, where bountiful harvests and long summer days were the greatest of riches, her opinions were not so much shaped as defined from the start. Happiness was the biggest prize of all, a conviction she had known since an early age but had become yet more certain of as the years had gone on.

The few possessions that she did prize were made so because they reflected her deepest joys in life. There was the band of gold sitting in its rightful place upon her left hand which gave her such euphoria whenever she happened to look down and catch a glimpse of it, growing more so when she touched her fingertips to the warm metal. It had been kissed many times, by both herself and John, and tears of sorrow as well as happiness had fallen upon it. To her eye it seemed to shine brighter now than when it had first been pushed gently over her knuckle, fitting perfectly.

There was the blanket which she had knitted over a number of months and which was at present folded neatly away into a drawer of the cupboard in their room, which had swaddled each of their children at some stage when they had been very small. Perhaps it did not fall quite into the category of a possession, given that it had not been gifted to her specifically, but she knew that if the worst should ever happen that she would fly to rescue it. It had been untouched and unwashed and if she were to take it out at any moment and press her nose to it she would instantly be able to discern the scent of each child, powerful enough individually but almost overwhelming in combination.

And then there was the photograph, held in its gilded frame, that showed her and John smiling on their wedding day. The most perfect moment captured for all eternity. She passed it a loving glance each day, polishing it carefully in its stance upon the mantel, remembering the times when she had lifted it from its denoted place, needing to cradle it closer while she sat in John's armchair or lay long nights alone in their bed. Most happily of all, those days were now a distant memory but she had not forgotten the strength that had been sought and assuringly provided over difficult days, the comfort that made the possession all the more significant to her.

The more she looked upon the photograph, by the light of the fireplace or as the sun streamed through into the room, the more she thought it would be very good if it had a partner. There was certainly space for another on the mantel, and though she was most lucky to look upon her beautiful family at close hand day after day she also wanted a lasting reminder, another token to hold dear to her heart. The children were growing so fast, the girls especially changing almost with every hour that passed, that it seemed vital to hold them in a moment. Of course they would always be perfect to her but there was no harm in catching such perfection to be held in high regard for the rest of time; it seemed almost a travesty  _not_  to do so.

The next day that she was in Ripon, running her everyday errands, she made some time to call into the photographer's shop to book in an appointment, making a note of the date that had been agreed upon onto the folded piece of paper that held that day's shopping list.

* * *

It was just as well that she had the foresight to write it down, as otherwise she may well have forgotten about the appointment entirely; it was only when she came to write out another list that she caught sight of the scribble and had a small panic on realising the date was only three days ahead.

Life was always busy with three young children but the last few weeks had been something of a whirlwind. No sooner had she dropped her head upon the pillow – only a matter of seconds, it would seem – then she would need to rise again, feeding the twins while she was still half asleep or soothing Will as he stumbled, still a little unsteady on his feet.

In addition John's duties at the Abbey had increased of late, even having been required to accompany his Lordship on a somewhat impromptu trip to London. She was glad that it had been a matter of business rather than anything to do with the Earl's health, yet at the same time she felt a touch aggrieved that it was her husband who was insisted upon to go such a way. She admonished herself for being selfish and quite preposterous; John was doing his job and he never failed in fulfilling his duty to the utmost degree. The two days he was away had been very long but their children did not fail to prolong the sunshine, shining yet brighter with their smiles and laughter, as if they realised exactly that they needed to be on their best behaviour with only their mama to see to their every need. The four of them managed to fill the time quite well indeed, but Anna preferred that the occasion would not become too much of a common occurrence.

So when the day came around she felt rather guilty that John would be spending a precious half-day away from the big house having his photograph taken, on her command. It would have been so much more beneficial for him to use the hours to rest – as much as either of them were able with six little hands prodding and poking them. At the very least he could have stayed at home in his shirt-sleeves and not have to worry about appearing how he so often was required to; staid and proper. If it was up to him then he would not pose for another portrait for the rest of his days.

But he would do anything for her, a fact she knew and completely adored.

Of course that same morning Charlotte was fussy and had no desire to be anywhere but in her crib, which meant that bathing the girls took longer than it usually would, much of the bathroom being covered with water in the process. Breakfast was delayed, toast rather than porridge made in haste, and she had moved like lightning to prevent William from smearing marmalade all down the front of his white shirt. It had barely gone nine o'clock and already she was exhausted, the thought of dressing in her own best an almost impossible task that loomed ahead of her.

While she did so John amused the children and arranged for a cab that would meet them in the village. Anna felt flustered enough, but going to the effort and extravagance of travelling into Ripon by car piled yet more concern upon her, even if it was necessary with the children being as small as they were. She thought herself incredibly silly for placing such insistence upon the event in the first place and wondered again why she hadn't made the trip on her own to offer her sincerest apologies for the waste of time and loss of business; there could be no thought of making a cancellation over the telephone, and she did not have the shop's number anyway.

Before they departed Downton John could see how perturbed she was and offered her a comforting look and a warm smile that filled out his cheeks and made the corners of his eyes crinkle, something which never failed to make her heart flutter as though it were comprised of a hundred or more butterfly wings.

Once again Will was beside himself with excitement to be travelling by car, getting onto his knees to peer out of the window, pointing and naming everything he could see as one scene faded steadily into another. The girls were less enthused, their age too tender to be concerned with all that was out in the world, but Anna had little doubt that it would be no time at all when they would be pressing their own little hands against the pane and there would be more than one voice chorusing at her, telling her of the sights to be seen.

The bell on the door of the shop tinkled as they made their way inside, causing Will even more delight as he shrieked with joy at the sound. He hopped in his shoes with their new leather scent and which made small squeaking sounds as the leather gave way, tugging upon the leg of John's trousers and declaring "again, again!" so loudly that it echoed in the otherwise empty shop.

Anna gave a soft "hush" whilst she cradled one of their daughters in her arms, hating to pour water onto their son's exuberance but being incredibly aware that they were not in their own surroundings and so could not indulge him in the ways that they were well used to. John came to the aid, crouching down and propping Charlotte on his good knee, gently prising the stuffed rabbit from her chubby hands to pass it instead to William's eager and outstretched ones.

"Benji has had quite the journey," he uttered in a soft and encouraging tone to their eldest child, directing Will's attention to a small padded stool in the centre of the room, "I think that he wouldn't mind being made comfortable and hearing a little story."

Will trotted off with Benji in tow, but no sooner had he sat them both down than he was calling for John.

"Da, you come too?"

"I reckon Benji would rather have it coming from you, son."

William nodded, his blue eyes wide as he hugged the rabbit to him. "You listen too!"

He shifted himself along to the edge of the stool, making room for John. Their son often made them grin with joy and Anna couldn't help smiling at his heartfelt consideration, knowing that her husband could rarely refuse the pleas of their little boy. Just as she would have predicted he made his way over to where Will was sitting, with Charlotte still held in his embrace, making a game of catching hold of her feet.

"Right, Will. Let me get myself comfortable and then you can fire away."

Anna paced the floor of the modest studio, keeping Emma held tight to her. When she had popped in to enquire about making an appointment she had been in a rush and so hadn't taken a proper look around. Taking closer, unhurried glances around she could see that not much about the place had changed. If she delved back far enough into the midsts of her mind she would recognise the little stool that their son was now sitting happily upon as he regaled his father, sister and stuffed rabbit with a story weaved from his own imagination. The same patterned curtains hung from the window, blocking out the light that would have been an intrusion to the photographic process. The same pictures in simple and unshowy frames, now joined by newer familiars, row upon row of them lining the walls.

It was only once she had got home and pulled out the crumpled shopping list from her pocket that she had realised. It hadn't been intentional, other than being quite certain that Ripon must have had at least one photographer in business. She recognised the name, written down with some haste alongside the address:  _Arthur Shuttleworth, 18 Brampton Road._

John still kept the photograph in the drawer at his bedside. She could not begrudge him, though it was not a favourite likeness of hers. He had asked for a picture of her and she would not have thought to refuse. She could see her low spirits reflected in the distant look in her eyes and the fixed, unnatural shape of her mouth, unwilling to be coaxed into giving the smallest of smiles.  _If there had been any sense or justice she would have had her husband at her side, his hand upon her shoulder, the both of them smiling with pride and joy that was unabashed. She should not have been sitting alone, longing for him._

"Hello there," the quiet, unassuming voice took her a little by surprise, and she halted on the spot, Emma gurgling at the sudden stop in her steps. "I did hear the bell, but I just had to finish something in the back room."

Anna smiled at the older man, remembering his face instantly. She was sure that he would not recall her in comparison; not only as she looked considerably changed from some nine years ago, in her own opinion, but because he came into contact with so many customers, week in week out; he surely could not keep track of every face.

"We're ever so sorry for intruding," she said as he came further out to greet her, "we should have stayed outside until we could see that you were ready."

"Oh no," he replied warmly, "you're no bother. I prefer that my customers feel comfortable before I get to the business of things."

They had done that indeed, she thought to herself with a flush as she looked over to where most of her family had gathered upon the floor in the middle of the room.

He had shuffled behind the counter whilst her attention had been preoccupied, inspecting the pocket watch in his hand from behind his large spectacles.

"You must be the eleven o'clock," he uttered, glancing up at Anna from over the rims of the glasses.

"Yes," she answered, shoring Emma up in her arms, "Mrs Bates. The Bateses," she quickly corrected herself.

His eyes seemed to glimmer slightly, his mouth twitching into a smile which widened when John appeared behind Anna, his hand placed gently on her shoulder.

"Indeed," the photographer replied, slipping his watch back into one of his pockets. "It won't take more than a few ticks for me to set things up, and I've already put you out by pottering around too long."

"It's no trouble," John was quick to say, hoping to put the older man at ease. "I'm afraid that you might have quite the challenge on your hands."

The photographer chuckled heartily. "I've seen a lot in my time, young man. I doubt that these little cherubs will give me any trouble."

Anna was happy to see the glint in her husband's eyes, a smile that made him even more handsome than usual spreading across his face.

"I hope that you keep that on for the camera," she teased him with a grin of her own.

"Did you hear what he said? I can't recall the last time I was called 'young man'."

He looked inordinately pleased with himself; she might even say a little smug.

"Go away with you," she retorted, tapping his chest lightly with the back of her hand. "I'm sure it wasn't that long ago."

He leaned to her ear, the comfort of his breath tickling the back of her neck. "Perhaps you take the years off me, Mrs Bates."

It didn't take long at all for everything to be ready, two seats set up for Anna and William, who was happy to graduate from the stool. John would stand behind them and Anna would have both girls sitting in her lap.

"Mumma," Will piped up just as Mr Shuttleworth had settled behind the camera stand. "Benji be in it too."

Anna smiled fondly at their son, reaching to stroke his cheek before placing her hand upon one of the stuffed toy's arms, gently tugging it out of Will's grasp.

"I'm sorry, sweet pea. Benji can be in the next picture we have taken."

Will began to whine, although thankfully he did not burst into tears at the removal of his toy rabbit.

"Mumma!"

"Shush, Will," John bent to place a comforting hand upon their little boy's back, rubbing it soothingly. "Benji's very tired. You don't mind if he has a nap, do you?"

William shook his head, his pouting expression fading away. Anna smiled at him apologetically, thankful that John always knew the right thing to say and do.

He held his pose once more and Anna adjusted Charlotte back into the crook of her right arm, straightening her back against the chair. Mr Shuttleworth stepped to the side of the camera, giving them all a smile and nod as if to ask whether they were all ready.

"Righty oh," he said when Anna, John and Will smiled back at him. "On my count, I want to see your best faces. One, two..."

Before he could make it to three, Emma – who had been as quiet as a mouse up until now – erupted with the beginnings of a cry.

"Oh, dear," Anna murmured, dipping her head to the daughter on her left side, "what's the matter, Emmie?"

Despite her soft voice and soothing touch against the little back Emma started to wail louder, the piercing sounds bouncing upon the walls of the shop that was empty aside from them. John helpfully came forth to take Charlotte into his arms, allowing Anna to hold Emma close to her chest and shoulder, getting up from her seat to pace across the floor with the crying babe in her tight embrace.

A few minutes of gentle rocking and whispered hushes had not solved the matter, and Anna was faintly alarmed to feel the burning of their daughter's cheek against her neck.

"She might want feeding," she whispered to John, already unsettled on behalf of Mr Shuttleworth, who to his credit was leaving them to get on with things. "Could you keep them amused while I...?"

John nodded, and she realised that she hardly needed to ask him; she wouldn't in their usual circumstances. It simply seemed like the polite thing to do while they were not in their own surroundings.

"Excuse me," she turned her gaze to the elderly photographer, heat rising to her cheeks at having to ask an unassuming old man for such a favour, "is there somewhere quiet where I may nurse my daughter?"

"Of course," he replied without the least qualm, "you can use my back room, there's a comfortable chair. Though I'm afraid you'll have to excuse the mess."

"Thank you," she smiled in gratitude. All the while Emma still sobbed fiercely, burying her head against Anna's shoulder and clutching at her with small fists.

She didn't find the dim little room that cluttered, settling onto the high-backed chair and propping Emma against its arm as she unbuttoned her blouse. Emma had quieted a little, though she was still making pained whimpering sounds, each one cutting at Anna's heart.

"Hush, baby girl," she uttered softly, almost cooing while she nestled her daughter against her breast, stroking a hand against her downy fair hair, "there, there. No need for all this fuss."

Emma suckled lightly, not showing the usual fervour that accompanied hunger. Only a few moments passed until she pulled her head away, murmuring. Anna encouraged her again a couple of minutes later but to no avail.

"Well, you weren't as hungry as I thought you were," she said, keeping her voice soft and arranging herself back to as pristine as she could manage.

She rubbed her hand steadily against Emma's back, coaxing any wind that might have been the source of the discomfort to come forth. Emma kept on murmuring, not quite a sign of contentment but a vast improvement on before.

"Shall we go back and see Lottie, Will and Da?" she uttered in a near-whisper into the very small shell of Emma's ear. "We mustn't keep nice Mr Shuttleworth waiting, either."

Perhaps it was the addition of the unfamiliar name or going from the muted room back into the very bright one, but something set Emma off again, crying harder than she had done before.

It was perplexing as well as deeply distressing; Emma was the most placid of their children, the one who had been as good as gold all morning. If any of them were to cause a fuss she would have put money on it being Charlotte. Instead their other daughter was perfectly at ease in her father's arms, gumming at her fist and looking on curiously as her sister wailed at the top of her lungs.

Anna sat down with Emma in her embrace, stood up; walked around, took her into the fresh air whilst singing a lullaby in quiet tones. Her daughter's tears only seemed to subside for a minute at a time before they started afresh.

"I'm ever so sorry about this," she rushed to say, full of apology to the photographer as she came back inside, "perhaps it's best that we leave, we wouldn't want to take up any more of your time unnecessarily."

Mr Shuttleworth shook his head. "You're my only customers for today, so please don't worry. I can take as long as you want."

"We'll pay you extra then, for your troubles," Anna exclaimed, looking helplessly at John who simply smiled in agreement.

It was an unnecessary expense in the first place, especially when they were keeping an eye on the money they had, saving whatever they could both for the prospect of a rainy day and with the hope of fulfilling their long-held dream of owning a little inn somewhere along the line. She would just have to scrimp for a couple of months to compensate but that was not a great hardship, not as long as the children had everything they needed.

"You'll pay the rate I quoted," the photographer answered, and before either of them could move to argue he smiled wider and kinder than even in the previous moment, "certainly no more."

"That's very kind of you," John replied on behalf of them both, while Anna was occupied in doing all she could to soothe their upset daughter. He rubbed his hand upon his wife's back, earning a small smile from her, a welcome crumb of comfort.

She moved to sit down again, in one of the chairs that was set up in front of the camera. As she sang quietly, barely heard over Emma's rasping cries, she felt another small hand tugging upon her skirt.

Her gaze settled upon the sandy head of their son, his blue eyes as big as she'd ever seen them; almost big enough to fill his face. In both of his hands he held the rabbit, covered in soft grey fur which was wearing in patches where it had been cuddled and squeezed, shown so much love and care by its affectionate owner.

"Emmie have Benji," he offered in a gentle voice, one which was enough to make his mother's heart break with sweetness.

"Oh, sweet-pea," Anna said when she could manage not to be overcome with emotion, thanks to two of her children. She caressed William's cheek, taking the stuffed toy from his proffered hands and bobbing it in front of Emma's face, rubbing the fur upon Benji's ear against her too-hot cheek.

Emma enjoyed Benji's presence for a few moments, and Anna was ready to exhale a deep sigh of relief in thinking that the soft rabbit had finally done the trick. Alas, she would have done so too soon.

Her mother's instinct faltered, her fear taking over instead.  _There must be something wrong_ , was all she could think; Emma had never cried this much and for so long before. Her mind spoke so loudly and desperately that John could hear it instantly, his cane tapping softly upon the hard-wood floor which was covered by a large rug.

"I don't know what the matter is," she said, worry heavy in her voice as she leaned into him, "there must be...oh, John, I don't want to think..."

"Come here," he brought her as close to him as he was able while they cradled one daughter each in their arms, "I won't have you getting upset as well, that won't solve anything."

"I suppose not," she replied, her words wavering less than they had seconds before, a sense of peace flowing through her body as she looked into John's eyes, his gaze unwavering.

He shifted slightly, adjusting a silent Charlotte in his hold.

"Here, why don't we swap for a little while? You need a break, love."

A smile of both love and gratitude came onto her face, tempered a little by the thought that had crossed her mind.

"And in the next moment, something will start Charlotte off."

He shook his head, the fond look remaining in his eyes, and they switched daughters relatively easily, even with Emma's arms flailing about her as she sobbed anew.

"Now then, Emmie girl, will you tell your old Da what the fuss is about?" John's voice held a deep but soothing tone as he spoke, holding Emma snug against his frame. "No? Alright then, you don't need to tell me now. Maybe you'd like a story instead. You know, your brother told me a very good one just before. Let me see if I can remember how it goes..."

Anna stood with a still quiet Charlotte in her arms, somewhat amazed as John began to recount the story in his rich burr. It was not immediate but gradually Emma's wailing came to a stop and instead she let out a series of softer snuffling sounds, listening intently as John continued on with the tale. The furrowed brow that Anna had sported for the last forty minutes or more smoothed and she found herself letting out a small laugh – of sheer joy as well as a definite relief – as she was held similarly captivated, rocking Charlotte in her arms and watching Emma, who was surely completely exhausted by now, rest her head upon John's broad shoulder.

John caught her eye while he went on, smiling and then ceasing to speak when he saw that Emma had fallen asleep.

Anna held her breath for a moment or two, convinced that Emma would wake and begin crying again without the sound of John's voice to cradle her. She mirrored her husband's smile when she saw that Emma was unmoved, her little limbs flopped against John's frame.

"I'll have to finish the story some other time," he said, keeping his body as still as he was able.

"Thank God," Anna said, her voice barely above a whisper. While she continued to hold onto Charlotte, William scooted to her side, circling one of his arms around her leg. "She'll probably be out for a while."

"I'd say so," John replied, tipping his chin down ever so to glimpse their sleeping daughter, the picture of serenity.

"If you don't mind me saying," Mr Shuttleworth interjected, "I think you all make quite the picture."

A wide smile spread across his face and Anna felt a surge of pride overcome her, quite unbidden.

"Perhaps I should rearrange my equipment," he uttered, his feet shuffling upon the floor.

"Oh no, please," Anna was quick to say, moving swiftly to where the original scene had been set, "we've caused you quite enough trouble today."

It took her a less than a moment to take her seat, propping Charlotte onto her lap as she adjusted the pins in her hair. She extended an arm as William made to clamber up onto the chair at her side but she needn't have bothered, as he managed it all by himself.

Mr Shuttleworth resumed his position behind the camera, adjusting the lens and screwing the flashbulb tighter. Anna glanced over her shoulder and up, finding John standing directly behind her, Emma still sleeping soundly in the crook of his neck.

For a few seconds she worried, wanted to ask the photographer if it was possible to take their picture without causing the bulb to shatter, but she quickly realised that it would be out of the question.

"Righty oh," he repeated the same rallying cry, "if we're all ready."

Anna gave a small nod, being assured that John was doing the same behind her.

"Best faces on, and one, two, three..."

* * *

It took a few weeks until the portrait was ready. John took William up to the Abbey with him for the morning and the girls were left with Mrs Collins, allowing Anna to take the bus into Ripon.

Mr Shuttleworth was not in the shop when she got there; instead his younger assistant met her at the counter. She enquired after the photographer, though she didn't want to sound like she was prying. He was quite well, the assistant informed her; in fact, he was visiting his son and daughter-in-law in Scarborough on his annual summer holiday.  _Of course_ , it was that time of year. She was glad that he had the chance for a break, and that it was with family.

Having picked up what she was after – in a rather grand-looking box – she left the shop and made the most of having a couple of hours to herself in Ripon, lingering for a little but not too long in a few shops here and there.

It was lovely to indulge, but she was eager most of all to get back home and see the finished product.

She picked up the girls from Mrs Collins, timing it just so for when they were due for their lunchtime feed. Not long after that was done they were ready for a nap and she made sure that they were comfortable and settled before she made her way to the sitting room, the box held poised in her hands.

She lifted the paper that covered it, her breath holding as she did so. The first thing that she noticed was that it had been put into a beautiful gold-gilt frame with flowers edging it on its four corners. It looked exquisite, like something that would have belonged to the Crawleys.

Yet it was not the most wonderful thing. Anna smiled instantly upon seeing the portrait, tears of joy springing to her eyes. Half of her had wondered whether she would ever bear witness to such a thing in her life. Her family, including herself, stared back at her out of the frame and they all looked ever-so-handsome. Charlotte was a little poppet with wide eyes that reflected so much, even if she wasn't smiling. John's fine figure was captured wonderfully and she felt her heart beating faster simply to look upon him. Emma, bless her little heart, was fast asleep, but she looked simply adorable.

William seemed older than two and a half, sitting up so straight with his held high. It made Anna quite emotional, thinking properly about how fast time was going. She had to smile when she saw that another member of the Bates tribe had made it onto the photograph, after all; she had been too flustered with all that had preceded to notice at the time. In Will's lap, much like Charlotte had been sitting in hers, was Benji, one of his ears flopping over while the other stood up as straight as a rod.

As for her own image, well, she supposed that she didn't scrub up too badly.

Despite the day not going quite to plan she was more than pleased with the end result. She would need to write a thank-you note to Mr Shuttleworth and moved to John's writing desk to fetch some paper and an envelope while she thought on.

It was only when she made to move the photograph back into its box that she noticed the small piece of paper that accompanied it. It was headed with Mr Shuttleworth's distinctive brand and she smiled to see it, thinking that the old man was very sweet.

When she read it, however, the tears sprung to her eyes anew.

_I might be advancing in my years, but I never forget a face. You have a very beautiful family and I am delighted that everything turned out right for you, Mrs Bates. I hoped that it would._

_I hope you might visit again in future; I would be more than glad to take your snap again (if your little girl wouldn't be too afraid of it)._

_With my very best wishes and all the best for the future_ ,  
_Arthur_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With the little matter of a Downton movie being filmed as we speak, I envisage this little series will be four more chapters at most - it's my aim to have it complete before the movie is released, so hopefully that means the gap between updates won't be quite so long from now on.
> 
> Also if there is anything in particular that you're desperate to see covered in the Bateses family life please do let me know and I'll do my best to include it in one of the remaining chapters.


	17. September 1928

_September 1928_

"I know, sweet-pea, it's very exciting – "

"Yay!"

Their precious boy's face beamed up at her, his fair cheeks rosy with said excitement, and there was nothing else she could do other than smile back at him with just as much fervour.

As he stood with stockinged feet planted upon the floor, his hips doing a little wiggle as he expressed his glee at the day that was ahead, she noticed very plainly how tall he was getting to be and felt both a burst of pride – he most definitely would take after his father in that respect – and a pang of bittersweet sorrow, the latter seeming rather foolish to her but an emotion she embraced all the same.

Her darling baby was not really a baby any more.

She had these moments of realisation more often lately, and thankfully they did not cause her chest and stomach to ache in the same horrible way that the very first time had, catching her most unexpectedly and making her sob for days afterwards, frequently at the most inconvenient of times.

_It was not too long after his first birthday, and John dropped gentle hints into the conversation. She had to say that she didn't care whether the curls that had appeared upon his head meant that he was mistaken for a girl by strangers in the village. She put it off and put it off, but when it started taking an inordinate amount of time to get his hair dry after his night-time bath – so much that sleeping time was eaten into in quite a manner, for all of them – she knew that the business of a haircut could be delayed no longer._

_Unable to bear undertaking the task herself she headed into Thirsk, to the place where John had his hair tidied. The man there was very kind and spent a long time distracting William and getting him settled enough so that he could do the job with as little fuss as possible. She watched with hands clasped tight, her breath stole away in shock as one of the golden curls – which was incredibly small, too slight to have been lopped off in the first place – fell harshly to the floor. William's own sense of surprise was delayed but he caught up as his hair was smoothed over in preparation for the next snip, nose crinkling and mouth opening to let out a piercing wail. She gathered him fast to her, taking his place in the chair that was far too big for him, issuing soft hushes and whispers of apology as he continued to cry, flinching whenever the meek barber dared to even breathe nearer. Her heart shattering, so full of remorse for the terrible decision she had made._

_She had struggled to keep the tears at bay even when they were back at the Abbey, Miss Baxter finishing the job that had barely begun. It had taken nearly two hours in total and she was wrung out completely by the end of it, though Will had quickly forgotten about his distress, falling asleep in her arms before they had even departed for home._

_As always John was the one to comfort her, smiling softly as her tears fell._

" _It will get easier," he had said, as she held onto him tighter, the mattress beneath them cushioning him as she was pillowed by his frame._

" _I hope it will," she replied, her voice muffled against the worn fabric of his pyjama shirt._

That first sacrificed curl sat in a silver box in the bedside drawer at her side, and she could think of it fondly now, even if the guilt she felt would probably never fade away completely.

"But we'll never make it in time for the party if we don't get you dressed," she warned in a soft voice, unable to portray the authority that she should have shown, but was always reluctant to. William ruled the roost and she was sure that he was quite aware of the fact, but their darling boy never took advantage.

Instead, he had now taken to springing on the spot, whirling around and giggling in delight at it all.

Anna smiled and let out a little sigh, thinking that it didn't matter in the slightest about the several outfits she had picked out carefully, paying mind to the occasion. Will usually liked to have some say in what he would wear –  _the child of a valet and a lady's maid through and through_ \- but today she would be lucky if she got a vaguely related word out of him.

"I go like this!"

He did a little twirl, letting out a glorious laugh that told her he knew very well about how cheeky he was being.

"William Bates," she shook her head, planting her hands on her hips in an exaggerated stance.

Two could play at this game, and she supposed that it was still early enough that there was time for a little horseplay, though the need to be punctual was ever-present in her mind.

Still, it was more than worth running a few minutes late to enjoy the happy moments with her wonderful, clever and handsome little boy, just the two of them.

"You know very well that you can't go to Master George's birthday wearing your pyjamas. Dear me, whatever would they say? I can't imagine if the word got back to the Dowager Countess, that a cheeky little boy was parading around the esteemed halls of Downton Abbey in his nightclothes, with not even the decency to wear a cap! We would be banished forever."

William wasn't put off in the least by that idea; indeed, he found it the most hilarious thing yet, giggling away like it was nobody's business. For as long as she lived she would never tire of hearing the sound.

Despite having left on good terms – very nearly two years ago,  _where had the time gone to?_  – and knowing that Lady Mary still thought highly of her, she was rather surprised when John had come home a couple of weeks ago and relayed the invitation that was extended to all of them to spend the afternoon at the house for Master George's party. It seemed to mean more than it would have done if she was still in service, when she would have thought of the offer as a mere courtesy. All that said, she did not fool herself into thinking that it meant that they were the best of friends.

It was different for children, though. It had been a blessing that Master George had taken to William straight away when he had shared the children's nursery, as indeed had Miss Sybbie. Whenever they were in contact, far less frequently than they used to be, Lady Mary would mention how Master George missed having William as a playmate, even though he had a little brother of his own to be his companion. The notion did warm her heart, thinking of the two boys ensconced in an adventure with William as the younger child toddling behind Master George, so eager to keep up although the elder boy would not think to leave him behind.

Things would change, inevitably, as the years went on and the weight of social status would make itself felt. It was a natural state of affairs, nothing that could be helped. The world was progressing, and perhaps by the time the boys reached their adulthood it might have done so enough to mean that they stood a better chance. It did seem somewhat unlikely, even if both sides did what they could to encourage an ongoing friendship.

For now, as with every aspect, she cherished what William  _did_  have and would do everything she could to shield him from what many others would have considered to be harsh but necessary lessons in life.

A three year old should have the freedom to play and laugh, and view the world with nothing but joy and wonder; both her and John thought as much, knowing that their boy was in a more privileged position than either of them had been at his age.

All that being true, it was very much not appropriate for him to turn up to the future Earl of Grantham's birthday party in his underthings.

After a little deliberation on her part, and a deal of persuasion to get him to stay still, the task was done. She brushed his hair with great affection, smoothing down the curl that had sprouted at one side – a sign that a trip to Thirsk would be imminent – and revelling in the sensation that flooded her heart when his bright blue eyes looked up at her, looking ever so smart and more grown-up than she had ever seen him.

"Shall we go and show Da how splendid you look?"

Will nodded eagerly, placing his little hand into her own not a second after she had offered it.

She beamed with pride, bursting at the seams with love for both of the men in her life, Will grinning up at John as he was told how fine he looked. She would have lingered for longer, so utterly enchanted by the sight, but she had to get ready herself and with Will now occupied with keeping his father's attention it was the perfect chance for her to go unnoticed enough to do so. She looked in at the girls in their high-chairs, though they were close enough at hand for John to have his eyes upon them, before hurrying off, knowing that she could dress and fix her hair in little less than ten minutes.

On descending the staircase she was met with a round of applause, William's clapping very enthusiastic but not quite having the same impact as that of his father.

"What's all this for?" she chided, aware that she was flushing.

"Will and I wanted to show our appreciation for how marvellous you are," John replied, a wide smile filling his cheeks, his eyes twinkling.

"Pretty, mumma!" William exclaimed, jumping on the spot again, a veritable Jack-in-the-box going by a different name.

"Oh, shush," she waved away the attention, even if she was secretly pleased, "this dress is years old. It's just as well that Lady Mary won't be able to notice."

If she had more time she would have thought about going to one of the fabric shops in Ripon or even York to see what was available, but even if she had longer to prepare she knew that she wouldn't have gotten around to it, never mind finding the hours to actually put her hand to making something.

It didn't matter, of course.

"You look beautiful," John said low in her ear, causing her to shiver pleasantly, his hand nestled at the small of her back. "It's been too long since we went on a date."

"There are three very good reasons for that," she smiled up at him, happy to see his eyes alight with the most wonderful feeling they shared for their family.

It was her turn to sit downstairs, playing her best role as John went to spruce himself up. He'd already come back from the Abbey once today, having gone over earlier than he usually would to see to His Lordship and with enough time to spare to return. They were going as a family, with Lady Mary opening the doors of the nursery this time for Emma and Charlotte. It was too generous an offer to refuse, and it was also preferable to have the girls with them while they were spending most of the day there, though they were too small to really enjoy the occasion.

"All ready," John announced as he put on his jacket and overcoat, holding his pocket watch within his palm, "and with five minutes to spare."

"A victory, indeed," she replied, busying herself with getting the girls settled into their prams, Charlotte needing to be coaxed with the promise of a teddy bear waiting for her. "Though I hope that you're going to wear your hat. It seems only right, if you're not working."

"Of course, my love. I'm sure I left it on the table…"

They turned towards it almost in conjunction, both laughing when they saw that William had decided to try the bowler on for size. As they would have predicted if they knew he was going to do such a thing it was rather too big, falling over his eyes though he did his best to prop the brim up with his fingers.

"Oh Will, sweet-pea," Anna exclaimed, doing her best to compose herself, "you look a picture."

"I'll say that you look very smart, my lad. Fine enough to be in the company of all the Earls and ladies in the land."

Will beamed gleefully at his father's compliment, even though it was only his mouth and cheeks on show that could tell them so.

"It's probably best if you wait a few years to grow into it, though."

* * *

It was strange to be at the Abbey as a guest, especially as one of Lady Mary, and no matter how much she tried she could not fully relax. As well as Lady Edith, Lord Pelham and Mr Branson there were a few of Lady Mary's acquaintances present, friends from childhood and nearby houses and even one or two from society who had since married and had children of their own. None of them knew, or furthermore cared much about who she was – although they were all perfectly nice – but she was quite certain that they were aware that she did not occupy the same world as they did. They smiled at her and made polite conversation, and complimented her on having such a well-behaved child. She knew that it was their own way of being friendly, from something of a distance, and did not think badly of them. She had no reason to do so; indeed, she felt just as uncomfortable as they did, even with Lady Mary's glances and polite smiles towards her which increased as the afternoon went on.

She felt a little easier after the children had had something to eat, and the party was taken outside. It reminded her of being in service, attending at the many garden parties that the Crawleys had held in the years gone by, and there was also the benefit of the fresh air making her feel less stifled.

The day was about the children and their enjoyment, and that was the thing she brought back to the front of her mind whenever she began to feel doubtful about her reasoning for being there. She focused her attention upon William and it was plain that he was having a wonderful time. Despite having been up since very early in the morning he was full of energy, staying close by the birthday boy's side and watchful of everything he did. Though Master George was the centre of attention he did well in not favouring any of the children over the others, and so she was very happy to know that William was not at any disadvantage.

They were all playing with Tia'a, who was very pleased to be showered with affection from all angles. Every so often William would run over to her, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear to let her know of all the fun he was having, before running back to take his turn in throwing the ball for an eager Tia'a to go and fetch.

She noticed that John had been in conversation with Mr Talbot for quite a time while they had been assembled outside. It was appropriate that the men were separated from the women, no matter that it seemed rather alien to her; though she was so used to having John as her closest confidante, she knew that it was likely not the case with all of the ladies and their husbands. However she would have thought that he would have spent the time talking with Mr Branson, considering that they knew each other better.

It was a little silly but she felt rather proud of her husband, making the effort to be social and better acquaint himself with the man of the house, as by all accounts that was who Mr Talbot was now.

He made his way over after a little while, Anna meeting him halfway across the lawn while the other women stayed in their half circle. She glanced over her shoulder every thirty seconds or so to check on Will, and smiled when she saw him running and laughing, colour high in his cheeks.

"I half expected you to be occupied until sundown," she teased her husband lightly. Neither man was known for being especially talkative, but she reasoned perhaps that was exactly why they had spent so long conversing, finding a kindred spirit. "Would I be intruding if I asked what kept you?"

A knowing smile kindled within John's eyes. She did not have to ask the question but it seemed only right to do so in the company of others, even if that company was otherwise diverted.

"Life," he answered, being consciously vague in a way that aptly complimented her own teasing. "Fatherhood."

His gaze lit up further, in the way she noticed it did whenever he was reminded specifically of the role that fit him so well, like she had been ever assured that it would do ever since she allowed herself to view him in that light.

"He told me about the business. It's going very well, by all accounts."

Having been without Lady Mary to give regular updates she had forgotten that Mr Talbot and Mr Branson had gone into partnership. Perhaps if they had been dealing with something other than cars she would have been more inclined to remember. John relayed a great amount of detail that had come from Mr Talbot to her, and while much of the technicality was lost upon her there was no doubting that Mr Talbot was incredibly enthusiastic about his profession. She was glad for him, and for Lady Mary; she recalled how her former mistress had fretted in the early days of her new marriage, and while Lady Mary was not the type to show her concern outwardly her mind would burn like a bonfire with her thoughts, especially upon the matter that many would consider the marriage to be greatly unequal.

"He offered to give me a tour one afternoon. Show me the ins and outs, as well as the range."

She failed in stifling a rather loud chuckle. "Don't tell me that he's persuaded you into getting a car."

He smiled at her amusement. "I'd need someone to drive it, first. Were you never inspired by Lady Edith's efforts?"

"Certainly not," she scoffed. She had admired the middle Crawley daughter's ambitions of independence, but being in control of a vehicle was a feat she did not possess the least bit of desire to master. "And where would I ever find the time if I was?"

"Our enthusiastic neighbours would come to your aid, I'm sure."

It was his turn to rib, evidently. No; she had more than enough to occupy her with their three little ones, a career she was more than happy to pursue. She excused herself with a rub of her hand against his arm and a smile up into his face, continuing with the job she was never off-duty from and paying a visit to the nursery to give the girls their feed and dozens of cuddles that were as much for her benefit as their own.

The children at the party were still at play when she returned, some showing off to their watching mothers, and others – including Will – too enthralled in chasing and rolling upon the grass with Tia'a, who barked and wagged her tail in great joy. Anna half-regretted the decision to dress William in ivory, aware that it would likely take her until springtime to wash out the grass stains completely. The thought evaporated almost as soon as it had arrived, her mind already capturing the scene before her eyes and storing it away with all of the perfect and happy moments that their son had gifted her.

Later on, as they walked home in the still-fine evening weather with the girls asleep in their prams and Will holding sleepily onto her hand, John voiced the thought that had occurred to her while she had spent so long trying to pull their boy away from his first proper party.

"It's not a car you need to worry about," he uttered, the timbre of his voice a balm to her ears and pulsing temples, "more about him asking whether he might have a dog."

Even though it was really quite ludicrous at this moment in time, she couldn't help herself from smiling at the idea.

She remembered badgering her own father for a puppy, once upon a time, and felt as though if her darling Will were to wake the next morning and ask her, she would not have it in her to possibly refuse.

As it was, it remained a dream for a day quite distant.

* * *

The twins' first birthday followed a couple of weeks afterwards, and it was a distinctly different affair. Anna found the time to bake some fairy cakes the evening before and John was granted the day off, aside from the couple of hours he was required at the Abbey, which fitted well around the plans for the occasion.

Once their presents had been opened, with assistance from their big brother, the family headed out to the park where they met with Gwen and her boys, Philip and Daniel. The children had met once before, when the Bateses and the Hardings had arranged a trip to Whitby beach in the summer. Thankfully they got along just as well as their parents did, and it had delighted both mothers to see their sons playing so well together. Anna hoped that William would have firm friends for life in Philip and Daniel, as no doubt she would have had an even greater friendship with Gwen if they had known each other as children. The boys had a whale of a time kicking up the leaves that had just started to descend from the trees, while the girls watched happily from the knees of their mother and father, giving little shouts and clapping their tiny hands.

Gwen and the boys stopped by at the cottage for a little while; there was certainly no question of sending them away hungry, not when they'd all worked up such an appetite in play and there was plenty of cake to go around. Emma and Charlotte were fussed over, the three boys doing everything they could to entertain the birthday girls. William made a particularly fine rendition of  _The Grand Old Duke of York_ , a tune he had picked up from Master George singing it at his own party. He couldn't quite get a grasp on all of the words, but Anna much preferred her son's version of the song and led everyone in a fervent round of applause to which Will bowed happily.

It was different to the celebration that they had attended at the Abbey, but certainly no less special.

Not long after they had waved off Gwen and the junior Hardings at gone six, the remainder of the fairy cakes shared out between them in paper bags, were the girls put down for the evening, tired out from their big day. William followed fairly soon after, clutching Benji to his chest as his sandy head sunk upon his pillow. Such a day of fun called for a night of rest, filled with dreams that were made fantastic from all the wonderful things that had happened in the hours just gone by.

She'd had the foresight to make a stew alongside her baking, meaning that they had something more substantial than sandwiches to eat at the end of the day. They hadn't made it through one cup of tea until she was yawning, unable to go a full minute without doing so.

John smiled at her from over the table and his own cup. "It's been quite the day."

"I can't remember being so tired after Will's first birthday," she mused, grateful when John moved to gather the things away, "but then, I suppose that's hardly a surprise."

"There is that," he smiled over his shoulder as he rinsed out the cups, "and that two birthdays are twice the work."

She knew he was using the term loosely, and while it had been an effort it was for all the best reasons to see their daughters' smiling faces, precious pictures that she would cherish forever.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Her question was tinged with just a touch of melancholy. "They won't remember any of what happened today in years to come. We could have just carried on as normal and it wouldn't really have mattered."

As she pondered that very real possibility she felt John's hand landing upon her shoulder. His eyes were full of empathy as she turned her head to look up at him, any sorrow that she held washed away in the depth of his gaze.

"It will always have mattered."

She nodded, leaning her head against him, smiling as he dipped to lay a kiss upon her hairline.

They headed up the stairs, John following her as he did every night. She checked on each of their children, owing them the same amount of time in gazing and whispered goodnight wishes before moving off to their own room where he had already drawn the curtains and lit the lamps at their bedsides. As exhausted as she was she felt it would be a little while before they were both able to drop off to sleep, both having stubborn body clocks and being perhaps over-alert to their children's needs.

"I think they'll remember more than we realise," John said once they were both changed and settling themselves into bed, "Will certainly knows which presents he got for his first birthday. And the girls have the benefit of having each other's memory to rely on."

Maybe he was simply trying to make her feel better rather than believing in any fact of science or nature, but it did the trick as she closed her eyes, smiling contentedly.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

She lay there, eyes closed but not sleeping, for some time, images of their children in her mind. Smiling, laughing. Not just from today nor just a couple of weeks ago. She heard John's even breathing, aware that he wasn't asleep either. Most likely reading.

There was little else that could affect her senses to make her feel as much at peace as she was now.

"I've been thinking."

John's voice broke the silence.

"That isn't unusual," she replied, smiling again as she said so.

He didn't laugh or say anything further, which made her open her eyes. He looked so earnest, which was not out of the ordinary, but there was another level of conviction in his gaze.

"More so of late," he eventually continued, the deep breath that he had exhaled beforehand running into his words. "It's not one thing in particular, just…well, I suppose a feeling. But I didn't want to barge in with it, and make you think…well, it has to be something that we agree upon. And perhaps now is not the best time to talk about it."

Something in her heart fluttered at hearing him stumble slightly, and as endearing as she found it she couldn't allow him to go on feeling as though he was doing something wrong, when he wasn't at all.

"You're thinking about the hotel," she said, feeling the palpable relief come from him when he no longer had to try and explain himself.

He smiled from his eyes, tired from the day but radiating warmth in abundance.

"Mrs Bates, how is it that you know my mind better than I do?"

"It's one of my secrets," she replied with a beaming smile.

He put the book he was holding down against the covers, moving to take her hands into his.

"To tell the truth, I've been thinking about it too."

It seemed a long time since they had last been venturing towards the dream they had held for years. Indeed it was the very same day that they had discovered she was pregnant with the girls. Since then it had gone to the back of their heads, although it remained held deep within their hearts. Whenever they had come to the mutual decision of moving forward something had always got in the way, but at least of late it had been for good reasons.

The smile that spread over John's face reached straight to Anna's heart, and she clasped her hands tighter in his.

"Listening to Mr Talbot talk about the business, having something to build upon…that's all I've ever wanted for us. A place that is truly our own, for all of us."

Tears of happiness sprung to her eyes as he went on, bringing the most wonderful of images to her mind. She could see the children so happy, free and thriving. John at her side for the best part of each and every day, rather than only the hours of early morning and later evening. She wanted him to be there for every one of the children's birthdays and not have to disappear. Of course there would still be work to be done, but it would be so much different if they could do it together, with the children easily within reach too. It would make life much easier and make much more sense.

Above all it would make it happier for all of them.

It had been all she had wanted and dreamt of, for the longest time.

"You don't think it's too soon, do you?" he asked, a sudden look of panic washing over his face.

"John, it's been twelve years since we first talked about it," she exclaimed delightedly, "so no, I don't think so."

They both broke into laughter, and she could see the tears gleaming in his own eyes.

"I just mean, with the girls," he clarified, "if you don't think it would be unsettling for them."

"They're one now, so it feels better." Somehow their first birthday was a landmark, not just for the twins. "And I think that if they're happy here, they'll be happy somewhere else. They're happy because of who they're around, not where they live. The same goes for Will."

She hoped that they would remember Downton, of course, and have fond memories of the first place they lived. Who knows; they need not move very far away, and they could still make day trips over as the children grew, strengthening it in their minds.

"And you think we could manage?"

She nodded, wearing the same smile she had worn on only a number of occasions before.

"We always do."

"Oh, my love."

He brought one of his hands to her face while the other remained entwined with hers, and their lips met more than once, sealing the promise they had made.

It certainly had been a long time coming, but now was the time for the dream to come to life, most fittingly at the time of the day when the threads of dreams were woven the strongest.


End file.
